Fireside Tales
by Sandtigress
Summary: They are the Dalish, keepers of the lost lore, last of the Elvhenan. This is the tale of their hero, who sought to save the world without losing herself in the process.
1. Prologue: Gathered 'Round the Fire

_A/N I don't own Dragon Age or any of that good stuff as it is a product of Bioware's genius. I'm just thankful they let us share in it!  
_

"Keeper! Keeper!"

Merrill looked up from her work, a smile on her face. The children were calling again, wanting more stories, no doubt. Though the children of her clan had heard her stories dozens of time, there were many more children here at Ven'Arlathan than usual, with the clans gathering again. Though the individual clans that had settled here in what the humans called the Hinterlands had gone on to establish their own cities, they continued to gather every ten years for the Arlathvhen as they had when their people wandered – a time to meet and share and bond, and a time to greet those clans who had clung to the wandering life, still searching for lost lore.

Her clan had the honor of rebuilding Arlathan itself, capital of the reborn Dalish nation of Halimshiral, a task given them by the human king himself when he had given them this land, because from them, _she _had come. The Hero of Ferelden. The hero of the Dalish, who had won for them a homeland again, second only to Shartan himself. To Merrill and her clan, though, she had borne titles more important. Friend, daughter, and sister.

She spread sand upon the page she had been scripting to dry the ink, touching the page reverently. It would be the culmination of her life's work, her contribution to the lore of her people. Four copies existed currently, commissioned personally by the King before his final trip to Orzammar. Part of a promise, he had said, to never let the Wardens' sacrifices be forgotten again.

One had been sent to far away Weisshaupt Fortress, headquarters of the Grey Wardens. Two were in Ferelden, holding places of honor at the royal library and the study at Vigil's Keep, home to the Fereldan Wardens. The last rested here, on the desk before her where she had penned it many years ago. But those copies were all in the King's tongue, and it was fitting that her tale also be told in the language she had been born to. It was half-translated now, carefully written in the reborn script that was one of the triumphs gained in the years since they had come to this land. But the tome could hold, the children were waiting.

She rose from the desk, smoothed her skirts, and moved towards the window. A sizeable group of children from many clans had gathered below. "Is that children I hear?" she called. "Whatever could they want?"

"A story, Keeper! We want to hear a story!" The dark-haired little girl was one of her own clan, Kelia, Merrill thought her name was. It had become difficult to keep track of all the little ones at times, with the immense growth of her people in the last many years. It was a welcome problem, to her mind.

"Shouldn't you be asking Hahren Pol for stories? That's what he does, after all," Merrill smiled, knowing what the answer would be. It was always the same. Pol might be the clan's story-teller, but her husband had not known _her_ as she had, had not grown up with her, having come to the clan later in his life.

"But you tell it best, Keeper! Please! Tell us about Karaleyna the Grey Warden!"

"That's a very long story indeed," she replied, mock seriousness in her voice. "Surely we cannot tell her entire story all at once. I have work to do."

"Just one story then, Keeper?" Kelia ventured. "Dennit and the others haven't heard any of them yet! Not from you!" She looked to a boy about her own age, standing by her side, who in turn looked at the Keeper, contriving to make his eyes big.

Merrill laughed and gave in. "Very well. Just one for now. Go sit yourselves by the fire. I'll be right outside." She turned from the window back to the desk and the two books upon it, tracing one finger upon the intricate gold vines decorating the cover of the finished volume before gathering it up in her arms. She made her way down the stairs and out the door.

The children sat about the fire that burned always before the clan elder, the hahren's, dwelling, a sign of their continuing search for the light of knowledge and an open invitation to share lore. She took a seat on her customary bench, padded now in deference to her growing age, and set the heavy tome on her lap.

"Alright then, a story, but a quick one. And we will do this in the King's tongue." The children groaned – they wanted a story, not a lesson! She remonstrated them gently. "Keeper Lanaya wishes us to maintain good will with the humans, and we cannot do that if we do not speak their language. Your hero may have been Dalish, but she loved the humans as well. She did not fight so that our two peoples would be at war with each other." When the children had settled again, she opened the book, switching languages accordingly.

"Now then, da'len. Which tale shall I tell you today?"


	2. First Impressions

"What tale do you wish to hear, da'len?" Merrill asked the group of children around her. The youngsters looked properly thoughtful, though eventually a wide-eyed boy spoke up shyly.

"Is it true, Keeper Merrill, that she was here? At Ven'Arlathan?" the little boy asked.

"Yes indeed, though it was known as 'Ostagar' then. " Merrill confirmed. The Keeper motioned to the ruins around them, and the children followed the motion, eyes wide in awe. "This fortress was ancient even in the days when our hero walked these grounds. In many ways, this is where her tale began. Shall I start there?" She chuckled at their eager nods, and opened up the thick book in her lap. "Very well. Our story begins many years ago…"

-~0~-

They were approaching the fortress, at long last. With the aid of the halla, they had made much better time than he had hoped. Time was of the essence, now.

The young woman behind him had fallen into restless sleep again. It was the clearest physical sign of the taint growing in her, the only one the proud warrior let slip. But he could feel it within her, echoing the taint in his own blood. Time was of the essence, indeed. She did not have much left.

Duncan shifted purposefully in the simple saddle, knowing the movement would wake his new recruit without injuring her pride and felt her straighten up slightly.

"We are approaching the fortress of Ostagar, finally. We should reach the army encampment shortly," he told her. He gestured to the few fallen pillars and crumbled walls that spotted the landscape. "These have been here for many ages, when it was the last line of defense against invading barbarians. Now it will serve as our battleground against the darkspawn horde." She would be looking around with interest now, Dalish to the core, he knew, always seeking any sign of their lost civilization.

He half-turned in the saddle, twisting around to look at her. "If we ride on, we will be there in an hour, perhaps two. But if you prefer, we can stop now and rest while we eat." As he expected, she shook her head.

"I'm fine. We don't need to stop," she said. Many of his recruits warmed to him as they travelled, but his newest protégée had grown increasingly quiet in the days since they had left her clan. She had begun the journey with many questions about the order she would join and the creatures she would fight, as curious for lore as any proper Dalish should be. After more than a week of journeying, however, she spoke no more than necessary. Conserving her strength, he thought, rather than any particular animosity towards him.

Joining the Grey Wardens would potentially save her life, but Duncan was under no illusion that young Karaleyna's departure from her clan had been anything but unwilling. Clan ties were all important to the wandering Dalish and it was rare for any of their number to abandon kin and kind – Dalish Wardens were almost unheard of. But when the Wardens were fortunate enough to entice one away, they always served with great distinction. He had similar hopes for his newest recruit. If she survived. The sooner they completed her Joining, the better. He nudged the halla to a faster pace.

-~0~-

She saw Tamlen before her. Tamlen. Clanmate, fellow hunter, best friend, who would do anything for her, who had done everything for her. But it couldn't be – Tamlen was gone, the Grey Warden had said. She had failed him. They had entered the caves together, searching for forgotten lore, and had found the mirror. That thrice-cursed mirror that Tamlen had touched. They had gone in together, but only she had survived. Was it the blessing or the curse of the Creators that she always survived while others were lost?

Kara stretched out a hand, as if by touching him she could bring him back when she awoke, for surely it was a dream. She knew it had to be. But if she could just reach him, she could amend for not searching hard enough, for not finding him and helping him, the way he had always been there for her. So close.

The Tamlen-who-could-not-be-Tamlen looked up at her, familiar light in blue eyes. He smiled at her, and she thought her heart might break from missing him, more than even the rest of the clan she had left behind. She whispered his name, hand outstretched still. That smile again, and he reached for her.

His skin turned grey and his eyes empty. Blond hair became thin and fingers like claws. The warm smile became wicked, and he lunged at her with a shriek.

-~0~- 

Kara woke with a start. The dreams were becoming more frequent, more horrifying. Dreaming of the foul darkspawn creatures was bad enough. But Tamlen, becoming one of them? She wasn't sure her heart could endure that. She couldn't bear to think of it now, even knowing it had just been a dream. Tamlen was dead. There was no changing that.

How long had she drifted off this time? She remembered Duncan saying that their destination was but a short distance away. The ruins were more intact now than they had been, the walls and road in better repair. Perhaps soon…

"Ho there, Duncan!" She peered around the Warden to see the tall blond man approaching, wide smile on a mobile face. He was flanked by guards and wore golden armor - someone important then. The man had a bearing about him, an air of authority, like a Keeper who knew his word had weight. Duncan's next words confirmed her thoughts.

"King Cailan! I didn't expect a – "

"A royal welcome?" The man, Creators, the King himself! chuckled. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty." The Warden's tone was serious, but she wondered that he would have such a familiar relationship with the King of Ferelden. Who was this man that she had travelled with these past days?

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" The King turned his attention to her then, curiosity evident in his gaze. "The other Wardens told me you'd found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?"

Duncan shifted in his seat, half-turned towards her. "Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

"No need to be so formal, Duncan," the King interrupted with a charming smile. "We'll be shedding blood together, after all. Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?"

Kara willed herself to be calm, to steady her voice. She was the representative of the Dalish, last of the Elvhenan, royalty among the People. She shifted her shoulders slightly, feeling the comforting weight of her blades at her back. There was no reason to fear the human king. "I am Karaleyna of the Mahariel clan of the Dalish elves, your Majesty." Right hand held as a fist to her heart, she bowed as best as she was able astride the halla, giving him the salute of her people.

The King's smile grew broader. "Pleased to meet you! The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help. I imagine that you, especially, will be a welcome addition. I hear your people possess remarkable skill and honor."

"You know of the Dalish, King Cailan?" she asked. The man seemed pleasant enough, not as haughty or distant as she had might have imagined a human king to be, had she ever given thought to the matter.

"I wish I knew more, but your people aren't exactly fond of mine, with good reason." She was surprised by the sincerity she heard in the King's voice. "I tell you this though, you are very welcome here. The Grey Wardens will surely benefit from your presence."

Pattering footsteps behind the King signaled the approach of a human boy. King Cailan noted the boy's appearance with a sigh, then turned his gaze back to Duncan. "I must be off. It seems Teyrn Loghain wishes to bore me with further talk of strategy and tactics. Is there anything that you or your Wardens require?"

"No, your Majesty," Duncan replied. "We are well-supplied for the moment, but be assured I will inform you should the need arise. Although…" his voice trailed speculatively for a moment, as though a thought had suddenly occurred to him.

"Would your Majesty have a suggestion for housing for our fine companion here?" He patted the halla's neck, who gave a low call in reply. "I fear her like is not often seen in these parts and it is thanks to her efforts that we have arrived in such a timely manner."

"Indeed, I've never seen anything quite like it," the King mused.

"A halla, your Majesty," Kara supplied. "Her name is Maera, and she is a dear friend to my clan."

"It would hardly be fair recompense if an intrepid hunter decided she would be the perfect trophy for the king's dinner table, now wouldn't it?" King Cailan said thoughtfully. Kara's eyes widened in alarm. It had not occurred to her that her friend would be in potential danger here. Before she could protest, the King spoke again.

"The picket line would not be sufficiently secure…but if we were to house her with the mabari, I expect she would be safe enough. Given the order, they would guard your friend here, I think." He nodded decisively. "Yes. I'll send word to the kennels and have the masters there keep an eye out. There's always someone near the hounds. Never fear, young Warden," he said with a smile. "No harm shall come to your friend. Now I must be off before Loghain sends out a search party. Fare you well, Grey Wardens, we shall see each other again soon." With that, the king marched away, escort in tow.

Duncan set the halla in motion again, taking a different path through the fortress ruins than the human king. Kara listened as he detailed their current situation, the coming battles with the darkspawn, but as they approached the army encampment and the sounds of hundreds of hundreds of men drew closer, her attention drifted to the coming meeting. Humans, so many humans. She shivered slightly, hoping Duncan would not notice. Her clan had always stayed as far as possible from the haunts of humans, more insular even than most Dalish clans.

What would it be like, to be among so many humans? Humans who had murdered her parents, who had slain and tormented so many of the Elvhenan throughout the ages, not just her own clan. The same race that had enslaved her people, driven them out of their homeland to wander, robbed them of immortality, language, and lore. She wanted to hate them. But Ashalle's voice lingered in her head. "Not all humans are the same, da'len. Do not let the actions of some color your view of the rest." Her foster mother had always counseled forgiveness, temperance, an open mind. The clan, Ashalle had said, had decided together to not let sorrow and anger poison their daughter's heart. For her clan's sake, she would try not to hate them. And for the sake of her people, she would not fear them.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention outward again. She looked up and stiffened at the sight – an elven man approached them. A flat-eared servant – he had to be, dressed shabbily and bent in a submissive posture. Outrage and disdain warred briefly, but pity won out – this man had never known the freedom of the hunt, the wild call of the wind, the fierce rush of the river.

Sorrow swept away the pity as Kara realized that those things were likely forever lost to her as well. A wave of longing washed over her, making it difficult to breathe for a moment. Keeper Marethari had said it was her duty to join the Grey Wardens, but duty had never tasted so bitter.

"Kara?" The Grey Warden's voice startled her out of her thoughts. It was clear from the question in his tone that Duncan had been expecting an answer to some question she hadn't heard. He looked up at her from beside the halla – he must have slipped down at some point without her noticing. Where oh where were her vaunted hunting skills now?

"My apologies, Duncan. What were you saying?"

The concern in the Warden's eyes had not faded away. "There is Grey Warden business I must attend to. I hesitate to leave you, but this must be dealt with immediately. Will you be able to find the kennels on your own?"

Kara fought down the panic and the urge to beg him to stay. All these humans and flat ears, by herself? Dalish hunters were afraid of nothing, she reminded herself. She resolutely shoved the fear away and buried it inside, forcing into her voice confidence she did not feel. "Of course, Duncan." Small victory, that her voice did not shake.

Duncan studied her a moment longer before continuing. "Follow the sounds of the barking, it should lead you to the kennels easily enough. Should you get lost, ask one of the soldiers on duty. When you are finished, seek out a Grey Warden named Alistair. He will be your guide until we are ready to proceed with the Joining ritual." With that, Duncan turned and left her. Alone. 

-~0~-

"Alistair? That was the name of the shem king, right, Keeper? The Grey Warden one?" asked one young voice eagerly.

"Yes, da'len," Merrill answered. The child beamed, until the aging Keeper scolded him. "Don't interrupt the story, Tenerin. There are many here who have not heard it before."

"Yes Keeper," Tenerin said quietly, chastised.

Merrill struggled to hide an indulgent smile and looking down to the tome in her lap returned to her tale.

-~0~-

Kara followed the sound of barking as Duncan had suggested, though after a while the smell alone could have guided her to what the king had referred to as "kennels". The Dalish had never had much use for dogs – one or two of the clans kept them, but overall they were rare. This though, this was insanity. Everything here was chaos. Humans and servile flat-ears running, shouting in their harsh tongue, and the dogs, more dogs than she had ever imagined, barking and barking. And smelling.

She led the halla on foot now, hands wrapped tightly in reins to keep herself from bolting as much as her four-footed companion. "So much _noise_…" she whispered to Maera as she pressed close to her friend's side. She missed the quiet of the forest, the wind over the plains, the song of the brook. She missed the music of the Dalish language.

She approached the kennels with some trepidation, even more so when a man stepped forward and made his way towards her. These humans were allies of the Wardens, she reminded herself. They were not going to suddenly turn and assault her. And even if they did, she was not some helpless child. Dalish hunters fear nothing, she repeated to herself. They were Tamlen's words. How she wished he was here, but his words would have to do. She chanted them in her head, a mantra against the urge to flee.

The dark-haired man drew nearer. "Are you the new Warden?" At her cautious nod, the man continued. "I got a message from the king's man to get a spot ready. The kennels are full, but I've an idea. I'll need a favor from you first, though." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as he led her closer to the kennels themselves, and one hand loosened from the halla's reins, ready to reach for the hunting knife at her back. She knew what human men often desired of elven women.

The man continued on blithely, unaware of the imminent danger he was in. "This is a mabari, smart breed, and strong." He gestured to an immense hound lying in one of the pens. "His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first. I was wondering if you might help me with that."

Kara frowned. "I don't know anything about dogs. Why do you need my help?"

"It's not what you know so much as what you are, really. Even sick like he is, he's got a mean bite. But you're a Grey Warden, or soon will be. All Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. The most you have to worry about are a few tooth marks. Will you try? If you help him, I bet he'd be willing to share some space with the four-foot there. "

She agreed to at least try and dubiously entered the pen. She extended a hand to the hound as she would to a halla. The dog sniffed it then offered a tentative, weak lick. Kara could see the intelligence in his eyes – not so different than the halla, smart as any elf she'd ever met though they resided in an animal form. The kennel master handed her the muzzle, and she slipped it over the hound's head, fumbling with the buckles for a bit until she figured out how they attached.

"This is for the best, my friend, though I know it is not pleasant," she told the mabari as he whimpered pathetically. "I know, I feel it too. Like burning fire in your blood, as if something dark is clawing its way out. This man says that he has medicine that will cure you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The hound's tail wagged, which she took as a good sign.

"Will you let my halla friend stay with you? You can watch over one another, keep each other company." The tail thumped again. "Ma serranas then – thank you, in the language of my people."

She straightened and slipped out of the pen. The kennel master looked at her with astonishment. "Most people don't speak to the mabari like they understand. They treat them like ordinary dogs."

She shrugged as she gathered up Maera's reins. "He is not unlike the halla – they are comrades and allies to the Dalish, not servants like your horses." She led the halla into the pen. "This is Maera, and she is a dear friend. Maera, this is…" The elf looked over to the kennel master. "Does he have a name?"

"I'm sure he does, but I never heard his master use it. He seems to have taken a liking to you though, maybe even imprinted you. Why don't you give him one?"

She thought for a moment. "Anari. It means 'little brother' in my tongue. Do you like it? I've always wanted a little brother." The hound barked as best he could with the muzzle and wagged his tail even harder. "Then Maera, this is Anari. Anari, Maera. Will you two look out for each other for me?" A bleating call and a half-bark settled the matter, and Kara moved to divest the halla of her equipment, laying them in the corner of the pen.

Slipping out of the pen again, she turned to the kennel master. "I need to find a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair. Do you know him?"

"I think I saw him head north just a short while ago," the kennel master replied after thinking a moment. "Tall blondish fellow. Head up that way and you should find him." The man pointed up a ramp leading to a more enclosed area of the fortress ruins. "Thanks again for helping the mabari, I can treat him properly now." Kara nodded to the man, and headed up the ramp.

The sounds of voices drew her attention to the right. As she drew closer, the words became more distinct – an argument of sorts, it seemed. Rather than approach, she remained in the shadows. In order to examine her would-be-companion, she told herself. It was almost believable.

Both speakers were male, human, one bald and dressed in what strangely appeared to be a skirt. The second was tall, well-built and armored, hair red gold in the sunlight. This must be the Grey Warden Alistair she had been told to find. He carried the sword and shield at his back with the ease of a man accustomed to their use, and though he appeared displeased with the man before him, there was no open hostility about him. The bald, skirted man stalked away in irritation, removing all excuses she might have for not approaching. No more stalling then.

The Grey Warden caught sight of her as she drew near. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," he said dryly.

Kara stopped, perplexed. "You are a very strange human…" she blurted, surprise stealing her tongue before she could consider the words. She regretted them as soon as they left her mouth – calling someone strange within moments of meeting them was hardly the way to make a good first impression.

To her relief, the Warden only chuckled and smiled. "You're not the first to tell me that." He squinted, trying to see her in the residual shadows where she stood and frowned. "We haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?" As she wasn't entirely sure what a mage was, she shook her head. "Less being yelled at for me, then, though the day is still young," he said with a shrug, walking in her direction.

As the man drew near, he studied her for a moment and frowned again. Kara wondered what he saw – one of the wild Dalish, traditional braids in her dark auburn hair and the marks of the Creators, the vallaslin, tattooed across her face. In Dalish leathers, so unlike any of the clothing she had seen in the army encampment, there was no mistaking her for anything but foreign.

"Wait…I do know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, the Dalish. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Alistair. As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

She took his hand cautiously. A "handshake", Duncan had called it. The customs of humans were so strange, so foreign. "Karaleyna, of the Mahariel clan of the Dalish." Formerly of the clan, she thought with a sudden pang. Clanless, now. Homeless, without an identity. She forced herself to keep talking, to not dwell upon the emptiness, or the growing taint that tried to fill the gaping holes. "It is good to meet you, Alistair. Duncan spoke of you."

"Nothing bad, I hope," Alistair said with a smile, and gestured for them to keep moving. He looked at her, a thoughtful expression upon his face. "You know…it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Perhaps offending the man was not what she should have been worried about. "You want more women in the Wardens, do you?" She fought against the desire to hiss the words, to give him the benefit of the doubt, that perhaps he was truly just curious.

"Would that be so terrible? Not that I'm some sort of drooling lecher or something…stop looking at me like that!" He squirmed a little bit uncomfortably and she made an effort to stop glaring. He _sounded_ innocent enough. A part of her wanted to be able to trust him. No, a part of her [i]needed[/i] to trust him, to find in the Grey Wardens something of the clan she no longer had. But so many instincts insisted that humans were dangerous, unreliable. It was all so complicated now, so many conflicting emotions and needs.

Something of her thoughts must have been visible in her face – Alistair's look softened into something like sympathy. "Come on," he said. "I'll show you around the camp, and then we'll see if Duncan is ready to start yet." He gestured towards the camp, and together, they set off, back into the swarming sea of chaos in the camp.


	3. Into the Wilds

Alistair stood by as Duncan explained the coming mission to his new recruits. It would be their duty to collect vials of darkspawn blood for use in the actual Joining ritual. Not so different from his Joining, though there hadn't been nearly as many darkspawn then. His task was to guide, and ensure that they weren't easy prey for the foul creatures out in the Wilds. Duncan had also set him a special job – to find abandoned Grey Warden treaties that had been left long ago in an old waystation.

As Duncan spoke, Alistair watched the newest recruit, the young Dalish elf Duncan had brought in that morning. The two others, Daveth and Ser Jory, he had come to know over the past month while Duncan was away – Daveth was a bit shady for his liking, and Ser Jory was a nice enough sort though surprisingly timid for a knight of Redcliffe.

He had been surprised when Duncan had asked him to accompany the recruits, especially as he'd been kept out of the majority of the fighting thus far. It was supposed to have been Fenric's job, and far as he knew nothing had happened to his fellow junior Warden to make him incapable. Meeting this new recruit, however…he thought she might be the reason why. She stood with her back to one of the pillars surrounding Duncan's fire, managing somehow to keep an eye on Duncan, on her fellow recruits, and the area around her all at once in a way that made his head spin.

It wasn't that she seemed afraid. Wary was the more appropriate term, he thought, like a wild animal. In fact, with the intricate tattoos that ran mask-like across the upper portion of her face, she rather reminded him of a captive cat he'd seen as a child during a winter visit to Denerim in the menagerie of some bann his guardian had visited. An immense, striped thing, it had paced and prowled with the same contained energy, the same dangerous grace as this young woman before him. Where the cat's eyes had been a feral yellow, though, her eyes were a hard grey, like storm clouds, or steel.

She had been almost as cold as steel on their brief tour of the camp as well, immune to his usual chattiness. He was fairly certain he hadn't said anything particularly offensive, even inadvertently. Yet. Fenric, however, incurable womanizer that he was, would have made trouble from the start.

That caged wild cat had nearly taken off some fool boy's hand when he'd gotten too near –it was characteristically wise of Duncan to head off potential danger by reassigning Fen before he could cause trouble with the new recruit. It was too bad he was the only alternative, Alistair mused to himself. He rather liked his hands, and his head, where they were.

Duncan dismissed his recruits to arm themselves before their journey into the Wilds, and motioned for Alistair to approach as they left.

"You know what needs to be done," his mentor said solemnly. "It is important that those treaties are recovered." Duncan hesitated briefly, as if he were reluctant to say something, then continued. "Do what you can to keep Karaleyna out of any close combat."

That surprised him. "Out of combat? Duncan, if you think she's incapable of fighting, why…"

The elder Warden sighed. "I have no doubts she is more than capable. But I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet."

Alistair looked to the elven woman, headed towards the king's kennels. What was there to notice that would so concern Duncan? Not that she was female, that was too obvious. He studied her departing form for a moment, puzzled, when suddenly a nagging sensation of familiarity about her fell into place.

"Maker, she's tainted," he breathed. He hadn't recognized it before – with all the Wardens around and the darkspawn wandering the Wilds just outside the fortress, the sick oily pull of the taint had become almost common-place. But now that he'd identified it, he could feel, almost see the darkness in her blood like it was in his. Tainted, and badly so.

"How is she even still on her feet?" he asked, turning back towards Duncan. Soldiers with half the amount of darkspawn plague in their veins were in the infirmary, bed-ridden. They'd put men with less taint to death, before they became ghouls.

"Much of it is her clan leader, the keeper's, magic. Old elven magic, unlike anything I have seen before," Duncan replied. "The rest…I think she just refuses to give in."

No wonder this young woman had impressed Duncan, Alistair thought. He was a little bit in awe himself.

"But despite that, she is very ill, and growing weaker with every day that passes," Duncan continued. "I believe that the Joining ritual might save her through the immunity to the taint, but you know the dangers. She will need to be as strong as possible if she is to survive."

"I understand, Duncan. I'll do what I can."

"The Dalish are proud, Alistair," the Warden Commander warned. "She will not allow herself to be coddled. Think of it as an exercise in diplomacy." The last he said with a small smile, and Alistair scowled. The elder Warden's expression quickly grew serious again. "Watch over your charges, Alistair, all of them. Return quickly, and safely."

"We will, Duncan."

"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return." With that, he was dismissed, and Alistair went to collect his charges.

He headed for the kennels first, still intrigued by this newest recruit. He found her crouched in a pen, gently removing a leather satchel from the slobbery mouth of a mabari.

"This is not a toy, Anari," she gently reprimanded the hound. Pulling the bag away from the dog, she opened it and pulled out a bound volume of some sort. Untying the cord that held it shut, she opened the pages.

"See? These are the sword forms of the Dalish, my father's notes. He was my clan's keeper, before I was born." She flipped through the pages as the dog looked intently, for all the world as if he were reading. "You must guard this very carefully while I am gone," the elven woman said seriously as she replaced the book in the satchel, the hound watching solemnly. She scratched his head and stood, apparently noticing Alistair standing there for the first time. He felt rather like he had intruded on something private.

"Ah, almost ready?" he asked, feeling slightly embarrassed. She nodded and moved to the back of the pen, around a large white deer-like creature with intricately curved horns, the likes of which he had never seen before. She paused to lay a tender hand on the animal's nose, and spoke a few soft words to it in an unfamiliar language – Dalish, he presumed – before moving to a pile of equipment.

She picked up and strung a bow, slinging it over her shoulder. "I've always heard the Dalish were unparalleled archers," he said, suddenly inspired, to which she nodded. "Is it true?"

"True enough," she replied with a small smile.

"Then when we find the darkspawn, I'd like you to stay ranged, cover us from a distance. They often have archers of their own." She nodded again without comment.

He watched as she unwrapped a bundle of arrows, giving each a cursory inspection before sliding it in her quiver. "So, I'm curious, have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

"Yes, just recently," she replied, still focused on her task.

"I've only fought them once up close, and that was before the battles here started." He shuddered, remembering. He'd nearly soiled his drawers, though he'd never admit it out loud. "Tell me, did you find them as monstrous as I did?"

"Hideous. Dangerous. But killable." She shrugged. He wondered if she could really be as nonchalant as she seemed. If so, maybe she should be leading this little expedition. In the pen, the elf straightened and swung the quiver over her head, adjusting it over the sword and dagger already there. She looked up at him expectantly.

"Right, let's go get the others." She left the enclosure and fell into step behind him.

-~0~-

They'd been wandering the Korcari Wilds for several hours now, with no sign of anything more tainted than a pack of blight wolves. But now, Alistair could feel the skin-crawling filthy wrench of darkspawn ahead. He motioned Karaleyna back – the Dalish elf had taken point shortly after realizing how inept her companions were moving in the wilderness.

Alistair looked at his assembled team as the elf drew near. She had held her own in the small skirmish with the wolves and kept a level head, as had the rogue Daveth. He trusted their instincts in the fight to come – but their fellow recruit, the knight Ser Jory, concerned him. Rather the opposite of what he had expected.

Jory was fidgety now, nervous and all-together un-knightlike from what he remembered of the knights of Redcliffe, where he had spent his childhood. But darkspawn were enough to unnerve the bravest souls. It was why this part of the ritual was necessary – it took not only skill but a particular brand of courage to join the Wardens. Or a particular brand of crazy, depending on which of the Grey Wardens you talked to. Either way, it was time for Ser Jory to prove himself.

"There are darkspawn just ahead," Alistair said, observing their reactions. Ser Jory paled and gulped nervously. Daveth hid it better, only fingering the daggers at his belt. And Karaleyna…impassive as always, tattooed features hiding what emotion there might have been there, except for maybe a sharpening of the steel in her eyes, almost as if she were looking forward to the coming fight.

"It's a small group, just on the other side of that rise, I think," he continued.

"Small group? Just how small is small?" Ser Jory asked. The knight was sweating visibly, and his rogue companion looked at him with some disgust.

"Come now, ser knight, it can't be all that bad." Daveth grinned, in what was probably supposed to have been a reassuring manner, though it had little effect on the knight. "The Warden there doesn't seem too worried."

Ignoring Daveth, the knight continued to press Alistair. "How many of them are out there?"

Alistair sighed. "I can't say for sure. Some Wardens could tell you number and kind, but I haven't been one long enough. Somewhere between 10 and 20 maybe."

The knight's eyes grew wide and his mouth moved, but flustered, no coherent words came out. The voice that spoke instead was soft and feminine. "You'll want me on top of the rise, I assume?"

Alistair nodded and turned to the men. "You two, let me lead, guard my back." Two more nods, and more nervous gulping from Jory. "This is what Grey Wardens do," the junior Warden reminded them. And himself. "Duncan wouldn't have recruited any of you if he thought you couldn't do this."

Over the hill they went, Karaleyna finding herself a vantage point as they moved forward. A copse of trees greeted them beyond the rise and from there, the darkspawn came.

They met in a collision of metal and flesh. Alistair crashed his way through the darkspawn, knocking one down with his shield and spinning to skewer another on his sword. He went through the mental count as he cut his way through - a mixture of genlocks and hurlocks, melee. An arrow ricocheted off his shield and he altered the count to include archers.

He turned his head to shout an order only find an arrow already in flight, which buried itself in the hurlock's chest shortly afterwards. Two more followed in quick succession, and the darkspawn archer was down. He flashed a quick smile of thanks Karaleyna's direction, just in case she was looking, before turning his attention back to the battle.

He fell into the patterns made familiar by practice – bash an opponent to the side, parry and strike. Side-step, drop a genlock to the ground. Behind him, he could hear, sometimes glimpse, Daveth and Ser Jory battling, taking out the foes he left behind him. Jory at last was acting like the warrior he was supposed to be. And around them, the whistle of arrows felled more until half the darkspawn were down. It was almost fun, if one ignored the smell and the guttural cries. And the oil-slick feel of the taint that made you want to vomit.

The rain of arrows had stopped at some point, and Alistair looked back to find the Dalish archer, arrow notched, aimed to the left of their position. He was momentarily confused, until that nauseating pull began again – Andraste's ashes, a second group of darkspawn. Most likely their presence had been masked by the larger group they had engaged. Not that it mattered now. They were headed straight for the elf's position, and she was dead if they got there. And so was he, because Duncan was going to kill him for losing a recruit.

He was torn only for a moment. "Stay here!" he shouted to the other two, and set off at a run. He just hoped he could get there in time.

Arrows dropped two genlocks and a larger hurlock was pinned to the ground with a clever shot through the creature's leg. He realized though with a sinking heart that the darkspawn would reach her first.

The first darkspawn to reach the top was dropped with an arrow to the throat, the second stabbed through with an arrow by hand. The third fell to a knife she pulled from the back of her belt, and then the monsters descended upon her in earnest. She dropped the bow, drew sword and dagger, and began to _dance_.

He couldn't think of another word to describe it. There were better fighters amongst the Wardens, it was true, but none of them _moved_ like that. Like she was…dancing. His steps slowed as he watched her spin to avoid a hurlock blade, using the momentum to spit another darkspawn on her sword. She transferred the dagger to her right hand, slipped to the side, and finished off the hurlock. Maybe she didn't need help after all. The Dalish recruit seemed to be doing fine on her own.

A blur of motion to the side caught Alistair's eye. "Your left!" he shouted. She had enough time to give a forearm to the blight wolf's jaws instead of her throat when the tainted creature launched itself at her, bearing the woman to the ground and burying her under its weight. He cursed under his breath for slowing and raced the rest of the way up the hill, slamming shield-first into a hurlock prepared to skewer the prone elf. The blight wolf lay to one side, dagger buried in the side of its head, but Karaleyna had yet to gain her feet again.

Three more darkspawn, and his foes were defeated. A quick glance down the hill showed that Daveth and Ser Jory were working together to finish off the last of their opponents as well. All the recruits had survived. Alistair paused for a moment to catch his breath and utter a small thanks to the Maker before stowing sword and shield.

He returned to where the Dalish recruit still lay, slightly stunned. "Are you alright?" he asked with some concern. She sat up slowly and nodded, though he noted the slight wince when she moved her head too quickly and the way she held her left wrist close.

"Here, let me see that," he said as he bent to kneel at her side. He dug around for the bandages in his pack and reached for her hand.

She pulled away from him. "It's fine, you don't need to…"

"If it's fine, you won't mind me taking a look then, will you?" he interrupted. "Indulge me. Besides, you're bleeding."

With a sigh, she held out her arm and helped him undo the bindings that held the leather bracer in place. The armor, light as it was, had taken the brunt of the damage, though there were already dark bruises forming the length of her forearm from animal's powerful jaws, and a jagged cut where a tooth had cut through.

"This doesn't look too bad," he commented as he gave the wound a cursory inspection and began bandaging her arm. "Though you ought to have a healer look at it when…." He trailed off when he realized that she wasn't listening, her expression distant.

"Do you hear it?" she asked.

"What? Hear what?" He listened, but heard nothing. Even the local wildlife seemed to have been scared into silence by the recent battle.

"Something…like a song. Beautiful, and yet terrible, all at once." She frowned and shook her head, suddenly more present than she had been moments before. "I can't explain it."

A song…that sent shivers down his spine. Some of the older Wardens, nearing the end of their time, had talked about hearing a song. The archdemon, they said it was, calling the darkspawn to war. But the only ones who heard it were the older Wardens at their Calling or those on the verge of becoming ghouls. Which meant they needed to hurry.

-~0~-

"You won't stop there, will you, Keeper?" Big, wide eyes from all around met Merrill's as she paused in her tale.

"You asked about Karaleyna's start as a Grey Warden," she answered, amused. She already knew what the answer would be.

"But she isn't even a Grey Warden yet! You can't stop there!" came the indignant response from one small child.

"Are you asking for another story then?"

"YES!" the chorus of children answered.

"Very well, I suppose we can do one more," Merrill chuckled, and the children cheered.


	4. The Joining Part I

_A/N Thanks to everyone who's read this far! I see these as something like Brian Jacques' Redwall stories - Merrill is telling the children a different version of the same story, one which excludes things like details of the Joining ritual. Just in case you were wondering why it is that a number of Grey Warden secrets would be written down for all to see._

"What happens next, Keeper Merrill?" inquired one of the children from a visiting clan.

"Next is the Joining ritual!" Kelia answered authoritatively.

"What's the Joining ritual?" another visiting child asked.

"It's the ritual that makes Grey Wardens what they are," Merrill replied. "It's very secretive, but I will tell you what they would share with me."

She allowed the children to whisper amongst themselves about the nature of secret rituals for a time before gently clearing her throat. When she had their attention, she began the tale again.

-~0~-

The journey through the rest of the Wilds had become a blur, wrapped in the mounting noise of seductive song without and the incessant burn of darkspawn disease within. The call had come in fleeting snatches since leaving the clan, but now it was clear, and had grown in volume with every step into the wilderness. It was tempting to listen and follow, but that part of her that refused to submit rebelled. Stubborn, intractable as a badger, Tamlen always called her. Dalish, she'd always retorted. Somehow, she knew – if she succumbed to the sweet, awful song Karaleyna of the Dalish would cease to exist, and that was unacceptable. So she fought within, and continued to put one foot in front of another.

She vaguely remembered finding the Grey Warden outpost they had been seeking, and the empty chest that should have held important documents. Encountering the witch Morrigan and her mother, who had taken the documents, was slightly clearer – the meeting was marked more by curiosity than fear, like her fellow recruits. Those trained in the humans' ways of the arts of the Beyond were susceptible to the lure of demons, she learned, but the Dalish had never had cause for such anxiety. The superiority of the old ways, that they resisted even the power of the spirits in the Beyond.

They had spent the night in the ruins of the outpost – a concession to Ser Jory and the approaching darkspawn horde that no one wanted to encounter unawares in the darkness. The men had arranged the watch among themselves and though their junior Warden guide claimed it was because they needed her well-rested to lead them back through the Wilds, Kara knew better. It was galling that he thought her weak and tired. It was worse because he was right, and she hadn't even the strength to argue. And though her sleep had been plagued with dark dreams, she did indeed feel stronger for the night's rest.

The return to Ostagar through the Wilds was unremarkable. Taking point allowed her to focus on something other than the song, and spared her the idle chatter she could hear from behind. It wasn't so much that she thought her companions uninteresting – it was simply becoming too hard to make sense of words past the noise.

She worked hard to focus now, though, as Alistair led them through the fortress, first to Duncan's fire with the vials of darkspawn blood they had gathered, then to an old temple in the ruins to begin the mysterious ritual that Duncan claimed would save her from the taint.

Ser Jory fretted to one side as they waited for Duncan to join them, Daveth alternatively poking fun at the knight or trying to reassure him. Alistair watched over them quietly, pensive. He looked apprehensive, which said more than any of Jory's grumbling that what was to come was unpleasant at least.

Finally Duncan approached, a large silver chalice in his hands. "At last, we come to the Joining." He looked each of his recruits in turn, capturing them with his gaze. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Daveth paled. Ser Jory looked sickened and aghast. "We're…going to drink the blood of those…those creatures?"

Kara remained quiet – it was no less than she had expected after gathering the vials of blood, knowing that the Grey Wardens were immune to the taint. What better way than to take it into themselves, even as she and Tamlen had done, though in a form that would sicken and not empower?

Duncan regarded Ser Jory seriously, as if by the stare he could embolden the cowering knight. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon," Alistair added.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first," Duncan said. He looked to the junior Grey Warden beside him. "Alistair, if you would?"

The young Warden bowed his head. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

"Daveth, step forward." The Warden Commander's voice was firm, undeniable. The rogue took the chalice into his hands and lifted it to his lips. As Duncan took the chalice back, Daveth choked with a horrible retching noise, his hands moving to his throat. Only the whites of his eyes were visible, and his face contorted in agony. The rogue fell to his knees, then collapsed upon the ground, body spasming.

"I am sorry, Daveth." There was great sorrow in the Warden Commander's voice, the weary tone of a man who had put many to such deaths and would again. Alistair too, looked dismayed, but resigned. Ser Jory, however, backed away from the scene, horror written in his every movement.

"Step forward, Jory." Duncan moved towards the knight, who continued to retreat.

"But…I have a wife." Jory, panicking, drew his sword. "A child! Had I known…"

Duncan's eyes were implacable as he pulled his own knife free of its scabbard. "There is no turning back."

Jory further backed away. "No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!" He swung the weapon at Duncan, who parried it easily with his knife. The blade plunged into the knight's belly, and he fell, staring horrified into the Warden's face.

"I am sorry." His voice was heavy as he lowered the slain knight to the ground. He rose, and turned solemnly towards his final recruit. "But the Joining is not yet complete. You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Duncan faced her, dark eyes meeting hers. The question was clear. In answer, she unfastened the harness holding her weapons, allowing them to drop to the ground along with bow and quiver. This was her duty, what Keeper Marethari and the clan had sent her to do. She would not shrink from that, no matter the price. Duncan nodded soberly, and extended the chalice.

"From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden." She took the cup, brought it to her lips, swallowed. The taint in her blood flared in response, and darkness surrounded her. And in the darkness, the dragon rose to meet her, and swallowed her whole.

-~0~-

Two more deaths. He understood the necessity, but it didn't make it any easier to watch. Daveth's death at least had been an honorable one, but Ser Jory's…what a waste. Alistair wondered how Duncan could do it, over and over again. The elder Warden was made of far sterner stuff than he was.

At least one of the recruits had survived. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest as the long minutes passed. Alistair remembered waking from his own Joining, disoriented and sick, released from the grip of the first of many darkspawn dreams. But it hadn't taken this long, had it?

"Shouldn't she be waking up soon?" he asked Duncan. From the frown on his mentor's face, Duncan agreed. Alistair knelt at her side, reaching out to check her pulse. "Maker…Duncan, she's burning up!" A high fever was one of the symptoms of advanced exposure to the taint. It wasn't supposed to happen after the Joining.

The Warden Commander sighed. "I had hoped it would not come to this…" The man appeared to have aged in moments. "Tainted for too long. Combined with the taint from the Joining…she battles against it now."

"Battles the…you mean, she survived the Joining and the taint might still kill her?"

"Let us hope it does not come to that. If she overcomes this now, she will have the immunity from the taint like all Grey Wardens," Duncan said, rising. He motioned to Alistair. "Shall we see to it she wakes somewhere more comfortable?"

Alistair looked at the unconscious elf uneasily. How exactly did one pick up a woman without touching…things? He slid his arms gingerly under her and settled her to his chest before trying to rise. He only hoped he didn't drop her or fall or some other embarrassing thing in front of Duncan.

It was easier than he'd expected, rising with her in his arms. "Maker, she's light. Half her weight must be in weapons," he muttered under his breath. Duncan moved to gather her weapons from the temple floor, glancing curiously at the blades.

"Ironwood," he mused, drawing the sword partially from its sheath. "The Dalish sometimes make weapons out of it. Wood, as hard as steel but much lighter," he said, in answer to Alistair's curious look.

He followed Duncan as he made his way out of the ruined temple, ordering the pair of Wardens outside to tend to the two fallen men behind them. They made their way to the Grey Warden camp by a circuitous route – it wouldn't do to stir questions about the Joining ritual.

"Lay her here for now, while I arrange for something more suitable" Duncan said, ducking into his own tent. Alistair followed him in, intrigued. He'd never been inside Duncan's quarters before. He was a bit disappointed to find it quite ordinary. Larger than his own tent that he shared with Fenric, Duncan's had room for chests and a table where he laid Karaleyna's weapons.

Duncan indicated a cot half-hidden behind a wooden screen off to one side and watched gravely as Alistair laid her down. "I fear it was perhaps a mistake to recruit her. Had she not been tainted…" He had never before heard so much regret and weariness in Duncan's voice before. "The Dalish are long-lived - to her clan, she is still but a child. Even should she survive, the taint will rob her of all but a fraction of her life."

Alistair wondered if Duncan felt this way about all his recruits. Personally, he'd been happier in the past six months since he joined the Wardens than he had been his entire life, and it was in large part due to Duncan – the Warden Commander was the first person to care about what _he_ wanted. Alistair had begun to think of him as something like the father he'd never had, but he'd never expected Duncan to consider him anything more than just another Grey Warden, even knowing his little secret. He was touched that Duncan would confide in him now.

"I've never regretted my Joining, Duncan. Becoming a Grey Warden was the best day of my life, darkspawn blood and all."

His mentor nodded, and some of the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. "Watch over her, Alistair. I'll return shortly." With that, Duncan slipped outside the tent again. His voice came again from outside.

"King Cailan!" Alistair winced inwardly and prayed fervently that they would stay outside the tent. He had no desire to come face-to-face with his half-brother any time soon. Or ever. He'd been avoiding Cailan ever since they had both gotten to Ostagar.

"The other Wardens said that the Joining ritual was complete."

"Indeed it is, your Majesty."

"And? How are the new Grey Wardens?"

"One, your Majesty." Duncan sounded uncomfortable – Cailan was coming close to prying into Grey Warden secrets. "She is…resting at the moment."

"She? You mean the Dalish recruit then, most excellent news. This calls for a celebration!"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, your Majesty, with the upcoming battle…."

"Nonsense. It will be good for morale." A pause – Duncan must have given in. "Outstanding. Tonight then!" The voices faded as Cailan elaborated on his plans for the evening. It seemed there was a timeline on her recovery now.

He looked down at the unconscious elf lying on Duncan's cot, watching the shallow but steady rise and fall of her chest, until he realized that doing so meant also staring at…other things. Blushing, he looked away and turned his attention to the inside of the tent. The walls were simple, unadorned canvas however, and rather uninteresting.

His eyes fell upon the weapons lying atop the assorted papers and maps strew across the table. He knew little enough about bows, though hers was an impressive looking weapon. The wood looked old, well-worn, adorned with a simple ivy pattern. The blades were like nothing he'd ever seen before – curved and incredibly light, as Duncan had said, when he hefted one in hand.

Alistair started at a rustle from behind the screen – it wasn't exactly polite to paw over someone else's weapons. He looked over to find the Dalish Warden still abed, in the throes of a fever dream. Duncan had told him to watch her, but what exactly was he supposed to do?

He pulled one of the chairs from the table to the cot and sat with a sigh, feeling rather helpless. She looked fragile, lying there like that – a word he would not have thought to use earlier in the day. Delicate, perhaps – she was slightly built like most elves he had seen. But there was a surety and strength in the way she held herself, a pride that was missing in the elves that lived with the humans.

She muttered and tossed in her sleep, and before he knew what he was doing, he had reached out to brush a braid away from her face and sooth her back to more peaceful dreams. Alistair froze in the middle of the act, her skin feverishly warm beneath his fingertips. Was he allowed to do something like that? The tent flap opened and he snatched his fingers away as if burned and scrambled to his feet.

"Hello? Grey Warden?" The voice was feminine, kindly, and he looked around the screen to find an elderly woman making her way into the tent. And a mage – his templar training made that abundantly clear. "My name is Wynne, I am a healer with the Circle. The Warden Commander asked me to see to someone?"

"Um, yes, over here." He shifted nervously as the healer examined the elven Warden. She knelt next to the cot, eyes closed and hands extended as she concentrated – Alistair could feel the magical energies emanating from her hands.

"Young man, _why_ are you fidgeting?" The mage's eyes remained close, but her voice was stern.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair uneasily. "Well, I guess you should know…before I joined the Grey Wardens, I used to be a templar."

"Are you going to smite me where I stand?"

"Um, no?"

"Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?" Wynne withdrew her hands and opened her eyes to look up at him. "There's little I can do. This is darkspawn related, yes?" Alistair hesitated before responding – that recruits drank darkspawn blood at the Joining was a closely kept secret. The elderly mage looked at him a moment before continuing. "No, never mind. I don't need to know."

She pulled a vial from the pouch slung over her shoulder and eased their contents past the Dalish Warden's lips and down her throat. "This may help with the fever. It's the best I can do." The mage looked up at him. "Cool cloths, try to get fluids in her. But if it's the darkspawn plague, it's only a matter of time. I'm sorry."

Wynne gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder, then slipped out of the tent again. With another sigh, Alistair sat back down in the chair to wait.

-~0~-

"Your keeper and I have come to an arrangement. My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When I leave, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."

Kara shook her head. "No. I can't just leave my clan." Leave the clan? Sooner leave her heart behind. She turned to Keeper Marethari in desperation. Surely she would not let this happen?

"And we would not just send you away." The Keeper's eyes were pained.

The Grey Warden continued. "The darkspawn taint courses through your veins. That you have recovered at all is remarkable. But eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us."

"Will I be able to return?"

Sorrow clouded Keeper Marethari's face. "We do not know. But we could not watch you suffer." Did she not understand? The clan was all she had ever known – leaving would be the ultimate torment.

"This is not simply charity on my part. You will likely never return here." Though Duncan's voice was firm, his eyes held a certain empathy to them. "We go to fight the darkspawn, a battle that will take us far from your clan. But we need you, and others like you."

"Is the clan sending me away?" Her voice was a whisper now. Tears threatened, but she refused to cry, not in front of the human stranger.

The Keeper laid gentle hands upon Kara's shoulders. "A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south. A new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm. Long ago, the Dalish promised to help the Grey Wardens should darkspawn ever threaten the land." One hand cupped her chin tenderly. "It breaks my heart to send you away. As it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty, and your salvation."

The course was clear. She turned to the Grey Warden and met his eyes. "If this is my duty, then I will go."

Duncan nodded. "I welcome you to the order then. It is rare to have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served us with distinction."

She turned to follow him from the camp. But that was wrong. They had stayed for Tamlen's funeral. In many ways, it had been her funeral as well.

Kara turned to look back at her clan. The forest was shrouded in smoke, the aravels aflame. And in their midst was a great dragon, jaws open wide and ready to destroy all that she held dear.

She moved to run back, to help save what she could, but Duncan held her wrist in a vice-like-grip. She turned to look at him incredulously, only the Grey Warden was gone. In his place stood a darkspawn and her arm burned where it touched her. Kara reached for her blade, only to find it missing. She kicked out instead, breaking the creature's grip and rolled backwards. As she regained her feet she felt for the knives in her boots, relief flooding when her hands found them there.

She launched herself at the monster that had been Duncan, burying her knives in its chest. It grasped at her as it fell, and suddenly it wasn't darkspawn, or Duncan, but Tamlen. And it was Tamlen's blood staining her hands as she looked on in horror.

"Tamlen…I'm sorry, so sorry," she whispered, trying to stem the bleeding as she knelt beside his fallen form.

He took her hands in his to stop the futile act. "Save them, lethallan," he said, his voice fading. "Slay the beast. Save yourself." The hands holding hers fell limp, and he was gone. Her vision blurred with tears as she stumbled to her feet, backing away from his body in denial.

Behind her, the dragon roared in triumph. Defeat the beast, Tamlen had said, his dying request. Her knives were in her hands again, her feet moving towards the dragon before the thought was completed.

Bodies littered the ground, elves and halla alike. All that she had ever known, all that she held dear. She vented her grief on the dragon, though her knives made little impact on the scaly hide. Suddenly the breath was crushed from her lungs and she found herself in the air, trapped in the monster's jaws. It would be a fatal blow, she knew, but not without cost. Her dagger found home in the dragon's eye, and it roared in agony. It drowned out her own cries of fury as she thrust the dagger in again and again.

She heard its dying screams as the bright light surrounded her. _For you, Tamlen,_she thought, as the light blinded her.

-~0~-

Her eyes flew open and she sat up with a cry, startling the man seated nearby. Kara put a hand to her aching head and shut her eyes, trying to make sense of the memories and sort reality from dream.

"Easy," a voice murmured at her side. Male, familiar. She opened her eyes to see red-gold hair, hazel eyes, brows drawn in concern.

"Alistair?" It was hard to even form the name.

"In the flesh," he said with a smile. "How do you…" Her eyes widened in alarm before he even finished the sentence, something the Grey Warden must have anticipated. She was guided to the side, head over a vessel before she retched, emptying her stomach in a most undignified fashion.

Strong, gentle hands supported her, then helped her sit back up. Water in a tin cup was lifted to her lips, and she drank gratefully, washing away the foul taste in her mouth.

"Be glad you're in Duncan's tent. He's fortunate to have luxuries like clean chamberpots," Alistair said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Duncan's tent?" she asked, fighting back another wave of nausea.

"Oh yes, where likely no woman has gone before. It seems you really impressed him." She scowled at him, earning a laugh. "You must be feeling better, to give me a look like that."

He grew solemn again. "In all seriousness though, he'll be glad to see you up. We weren't sure that you would make it. I think it would have been hard on him, to lose all his new recruits." The other recruits…she remembered now, losing Daveth and Ser Jory during the Joining ritual. She started to ask him about it, when the tent flap opened again.

"Alistair." Duncan's voice, as he entered the space. "It took some time, but we're rearranged so that…Ah! It is good to see you awake. And well, I hope."

"Well enough," she replied, not trusting her traitorous stomach still.

"We've rearranged so that your tent is between mine and Alistair's," the Warden Commander told her. "If you'd like, we can move you into your own quarters now. The king has decided a celebration is in order tonight, but you have time still to rest."

She nodded and attempted to rise from the cot, only to find her legs would not support her. Alistair moved to help her, but she waved him away. "I don't need help…"

"I simply thought I'd offer a helping hand. I was taught to be a gentleman. Surely that's no crime?" he responded mildly. She looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment before finally agreeing with a nod. He helped her rise to her feet, then stood while she held on to his arm, finding her balance.

It was humiliating, having to make the short distance to her new quarters clinging to his arm lest she fall, but her legs were weak as a newborn halla still. Better to walk on her own two feet than have to be carried, at the very least. She expected to see contempt in his eyes when they finally arrived, or worse, pity. Instead, she found concern and what she might have called brotherly affection. This human was not at all what she anticipated.

Her tent was small but serviceable, containing little other than a chest, presumably for her possessions, and her own cot, which Alistair helped her to.

"Well, here we are. That wasn't so bad, was it?" His voice was warm, his expression amused. "I'll let you rest for now, but Duncan or I will be nearby, so you can yell if you need anything."

"I will," she said.

"Well then, rest for now, and I'll see you at Cailan's party tonight." He gave her a parting smile and left the tent, leaving her to ponder how different humans were than she had expected.


	5. The Joining Part II

_A/N Apologies for the slow updates - I'm hitting the final months of my graduate work/Master's thesis/thesis defense and alas, fanfic takes a back seat to research and my job. Things will hopefully get much better when I'm done, but until then, thanks for being patient, and especially for reading!_

Cailan's little party had turned into quite the event. All the Ferelden Grey Wardens were in attendance, and the food and ale flowed freely. Alistair sat with Fenric, enjoying some outrageous story of Gregor's, a huge Warden from Anders. The large man laughed uproariously at his own tale and threw back another tankard of ale – it must have been his seventh or eighth. Maker, the man could drink.

Alistair was studiously ignoring Cailan's presence, and suspected his half-brother was doing the same. They'd met eyes once in the celebration, early on, and it had been an uncomfortable experience for both of them. Cailan had chosen to sit with Duncan, so Alistair was left to find other company that night. He'd chosen to sit with Fen, but now he wondered where the "guest of honor" was. He'd only seen her briefly at the start of the evening when Duncan had officially introduced her, much to her discomfiture, to the rest of the Wardens. Alistair assumed that she was still with Duncan, but a quick glance – a very, very quick glance – showed that she was not.

After a bit of searching, he finally found her off to one side seated at the edge of a group of Wardens, ostensibly listening to one of the younger men, though if she heard a word the man was saying, he'd eat his boot. She looked like she needing rescuing, and since the only other person she knew in the camp was currently occupied baby-sitting the king, he supposed it was up to him.

"I'm going to go talk to our new sister," he said to Fen, rising. "She looks like she could use the company."

"She's all yours," Fen replied. "I have no desire to get stabbed."

"Stabbed?" Alistair repeated, puzzled.

"Yes, stabbed. I'd sooner cross a darkspawn, naked."

"She's not _that _scary…"

"Oh yes she is. Did you see the way she glared at me earlier? No thanks." Fen shook his head.

Alistair grinned. "She only glared at you because you made the comment about…"

"Yes, and sooner or later you'll say something very….Alistair, and get yourself stabbed," Fen replied with his own knowing smile.

"I don't say….'Alistair' things…do I?" he asked, his voice pained.

"I don't call them that for nothing," Fen laughed. "Anyways, I'd never have pictured you as the sort who had a thing for elves. I suppose she's pretty enough, in a wild way."

"A thing for….I do not have a 'thing' for elves!" Alistair protested.

Fenric nodded tolerantly. "Of course not. Well, I won't expect you in tonight, so have fun. It's about time, I say." His grin grew broader as his fellow Warden blushed furiously.

"I'm not going to…we're not…you think…Maker, I'm just trying to be nice!" Alistair stammered. He stalked off into the darkness, Fen's laughter behind him, and hoped the blushing would stop before he reached the other side of the camp. Or at least not be noticeable in the dark.

Karaleyna looked up as he approached, recognition lighting in her eyes. The other Wardens welcomed him to the group congenially as he took a seat next to the Dalish Warden.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked her, as the conversation resumed amongst the group. She made a noncommittal gesture in reply. "I was thinking, if you'd like, that you and I could go somewhere without all this noise."

She tensed suddenly and her eyes narrowed. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I don't know, a walk around the camp maybe. I just thought you might like to get away from all these people." Alistair frowned a little, not sure what he could have implied to cause the sudden hostility. "It's a little overwhelming, all at once. We could talk, or something, somewhere a little more comfortable. I'm sure you still have lots of questions about the Grey Wardens."

"And talking is all you had in mind, is it?" Her voice had grown quiet and that steely glint was back in her eyes.

"Or a walk, maybe. It's a nice night tonight and I thought…" Fen's last comment came to mind, and Alistair realized suddenly what she must be thinking he was implying. "Maker's breath, no, nothing like that! I barely know you!" Was that all anyone ever thought about around here? He could feel the warmth creeping back up into his face.

His suspicions were confirmed when she almost instantly relaxed, moving a hand away from the belt knife he hasn't seen her reach for. Maybe Fen hadn't been too far off after all. "If you don't want to, I understand, it's your party after all, and…

After a long glance at him, she sighed. "No, let's go. Perhaps all these people are making me jumpy." He stood first and offered her a hand to help her up, which she took after only a few moments' hesitation. Alistair tried to ignore the knowing smirks from their fellow Wardens as they walked away together. He rather hoped she hadn't seen them at all.

"I don't suppose you've eaten much?" he asked her. She shook her head in reply, so he steered them towards the back of the Grey Warden encampment. Cailan had managed to pull together a goodly amount of food for such short notice – apparently there were benefits to being king. Well, Cailan could have it.

He plucked a pair of battered metal plates from the stack on the table and began liberally sampling from the assorted offerings Cailan had gathered together. He passed her two tankards of ale while he added to the plates. "Anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"

"Yes, I think so," she said, adding some apples and more meat to one of the plates he was holding. Alistair followed her out curiously past the boundaries of the Grey Warden camp, back up to the fortress proper, where they had been earlier in the day for the Joining ritual. He realized where they were headed when he heard the barking.

She approached the pen he had found her in the previous day, where she was greeted enthusiastically by the mabari hound and its stag-like companion. "I thought we might share our dinner with my friends, if you didn't mind," she told him as she extended her own greetings, setting the tankards on a nearby crate.

"And they could help if I turned all lecherous on you, right?" He laughed as she had the grace to blush. "No, it's alright, I understand. You haven't known any of us for very long."

"I should apologize," she said quietly. "Human men often have….expectations of elven women. You've given me no reason to think…I shouldn't have assumed."

"Well, no harm done," he answered lightly. Despite his levity though, she remained subdued. Alistair set the plates down next to the tankards and turned the elf towards him, concerned. "There hasn't been any trouble with the soldiers, has there?" He'd seen her fight, he knew she could take care of herself. But for some reason, it didn't matter. He wanted to protect her anyways.

She favored him with another of those long considering looks before shaking her head. She looked away from him then, silent for several long moments before speaking again. "I'm sorry. It is…difficult, being away from my clan. Everything is so strange."

"Well, you're a Grey Warden now. We're a clan, of sorts. We're all brothers and sisters, anyways." Alistair hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice – the Grey Wardens were the first family he had ever known. "And as one of your brothers, I reserve the right to hold down any one my sister deems necessary while she administers whatever punishment she sees fit."

That last sally earned him a smile, and he allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. He sat himself upon the crate and indicated she take a place on the other side of their meal. She looked at him side-long as she seated herself. "You would truly do that?"

Alistair shrugged. "Isn't that what brothers are for? Not that I've ever lived with any sisters myself, but still."

"It sounds like something my clan would do." She paused in the act of cutting a piece of apple. "Actually, it sounds exactly like something Tamlen would do." She laid a hand on a necklace he hadn't noticed before. In the dim light he could make out carved wooden beads and small curving claws

Curiosity got the better of him. "Tamlen?"

"A clan-mate, my best friend, I guess you could have called him a brother of sorts, though not really. Everyone in the clan knew we'd be bonded eventually. How do you say it in your tongue….wed?"

Oh. "And what did he think about you leaving to become a Grey Warden?"

"He's gone." The look on her face made Alistair wish he'd never opened his big mouth. He was about to stammer an apology when she spoke again. "He was with me, the day that I was tainted. We looked….but we never found him. Duncan said we never would."

"I…I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say, without making things worse than he already had. They ate in silence for a time, the Dalish Warden occasionally passing a tidbit through the fence to her friends. He wracked his brain for something else to say as the silence grew more awkward, when the glimmer of the claws about her neck in the torchlight reminded of something he had meant to do earlier. He took a long, healthy draught from his mug of ale, hoping it would untangle his tongue before trying to speak. "Karaleyna…"

She grimaced. "Kara, please. If we're going to be clan, it's just Kara. The only time people called me 'Karaleyna' was when I got in trouble."

He chuckled at the look on her face. "Kara, then. Here, before I forget again." He pulled a pendant and the chain from which it depended from his belt pouch. "There is one last part to your Joining." She looked curiously at the pendant as he held it out. "We take some of that darkspawn blood from your Joining, and put it in a pendant. I didn't have a chance to give it to you after the ritual itself."

Kara examined the pendant in the flickering torchlight, the front bearing the rampant griffon of the Grey Wardens on one side over the black glimmer of darkspawn blood. She turned the pendant over and traced the script there with a finger. "What does it say?"

"It's the motto of the Grey Wardens," he told her. Rather than look back at the pendant, however, she kept her gaze on him expectantly. "What's wro….oh, you can't read, can you?" He shouldn't have been surprised, most of the population of Ferelden probably couldn't read. Certainly most of them didn't have the benefit of being a royal bastard shoved into a Chantry education.

"Our history is oral, for the most part, passed down by the hahrens, our elders," she confirmed. "Only a few of the Dalish learn to read and write. My father could, but I never got the chance to learn."

"Well, if you'd like….maybe I could teach you, some time, after the Blight is over," he ventured. Maybe it was a little presumptuous, but it seemed like the thing to do.

To his relief, she smiled and nodded. "Yes, I would like that." Kara flipped the pendant over and slipped the chain over her head. They returned to their meal, but the silence was companionable now. She took a small sip from her tankard and made a face. "What is this?"

"It's ale," he said with a laugh. "You've never had ale before?" She shook her head. "Well, neither had I, until after Duncan recruited me. They tell me it's an acquired taste."

Setting the tankard down, she stood and vaulted nimbly over the fence. "I think it is perhaps a taste I'd rather not acquire." Kara made her way over to the corner of the pen where her equipment remained, and after some rummaging pulled up a waterskin. Her drink was interrupted by an insistent nudge from the…deer? Laughing, she slung the waterskin over a shoulder to free her hands for a vigorous head scratching, the mabari hound bounding up for his fair share. It looked oddly peaceful in the middle of an army encampment.

She looked up at him after a few moments. "Maera's been here all day, she wants to run. Would that be a problem?"

"I don't know, I can't imagine there's enough space in the camp for that, and the scouts say there more darkspawn in the Wilds now than before. I'm guessing you want to go too, and I'm just not sure it's safe beyond the walls for you to be out there alone. You haven't been a Warden long enough to sense darkspawn coming." He left out the part about her still looking rather pale from the Joining and her subsequent illness on purpose.

"Maybe you could come too," she said. From the way she flushed slightly and paid sudden attention to stroking the animal's neck, the words had surprised her as much they had him.

"Me? Ride a…" He still didn't know what to call it.

"A halla." She was still engrossed in smoothing out the animal, the halla's, already-sleek pelt. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have….we can go out alone, we'll be fine."

Alistair shook his head. "No, you're not going out there by yourself. I've just never ridden much before. Is it hard?"

"Duncan and I travelled with Maera the whole way from the Brecilian forest. She does most of the work."

"Alright, just…don't laugh at me if I fall off, okay?"

Kara looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled. "I'll try." She moved back over to the corner, emerging with saddle and bridle in hand. With a few practiced movements, she had both on the halla. At her side, the hound whined and pawed at her leg. "Not tonight, Anari. You are not yet well enough to keep up," she said, tousling the mabari's head as he sat on his haunches with a huff. "Soon though." Reaching up, she grabbed one of the intricately curved horns and pulled herself easily into the saddle.

"Um, do I have to get on like that?" Alistair was pretty sure that it would be disastrous to even try. She shook her head and moved the halla towards the gate, which the elf then kicked open. They came around the other side, next to where he still sat on the crate. From there it was easy to use the fence and crate to seat himself behind the Dalish Warden.

Kara waited until he had settled before she nudged the halla into motion again. As they moved towards the gate, Alistair tried very, very hard to not think about how _close_ she was. The solidity of her hunting knife against his midriff helped that. And where exactly was he supposed to put his hands? He waffled over the problem as the halla approached the gate. The dilemma was solved when Maera picked up her pace as they left the fortress, and his hands went around the elf's waist by pure instinct in a bid to keep his balance. When she didn't object, he figured it was okay to leave them there.

It was a good thing too, because the halla had picked up speed. A lot of speed. In fact, they were moving remarkably fast now. It was rather exhilarating, once he realized that the halla wasn't going to let him fall off. It was a kind of freedom he'd never known. No walls, no limitations from his half-royal bastard heritage, no darkspawn taint.

That reminded him of why he was there in the first place. He extended his mind, feeling with that sixth sense that had begun to emerge after his own Joining, but no taint met his search except for the woman before him, and so he closed his eyes and just enjoyed the ride. It was rather like flying, or what he imagined flying might be like, anyways. It was magic, a good kind of magic, different what he'd been trained to combat in the Chantry. Magic, the way they moved together – the halla, the elf, and him. He wanted it to go on forever.

Too soon, he felt the faintest trace of taint on the edges of his senses, and he indicated to his fellow Warden that there was danger ahead. Kara gave the reins a little tug and when the halla flicked an ear back in their direction, she said something in Dalish. In response, the halla veered back towards the fortress.

In a short enough amount of time the gates of Ostagar were before them again. Rather than slow as he expected as they approached the wooden gate, the halla increased her speed as Kara laughed and shouted something in Dalish. He felt the muscles gather beneath him, and suddenly they really were flying – suspended in the air for a moment as Maera cleared the fence in one great bound and hit the ground running on the other side, startling the guards stationed there.

Maera slowed as they approached the kennels again and Alistair slid from her back, reaching up to help his companion down. This time, Kara accepted without hesitation and slipped out of the saddle, landing lightly in the circle of his arms. He looked down at her, flushed with excitement and still breathless with laughter, and was suddenly hit with the overwhelming, absolutely ridiculous desire to kiss her. Maker's breath, what was wrong with him? It had to be the ale, far too much ale. He was never touching ale again. Never.

He pulled his arms away and took a few stumbling steps back. "Right, well, it's late, and we have a battle to fight tomorrow, so we should probably go to bed, I mean, say good night," he managed to stammer. She gave him a bit of a curious look before turning to slip back into the pen, followed by Maera, where she proceeded to quickly and efficiently remove the halla's gear and give her a brisk rub down.

Part of him wanted to make a tactical retreat now, before the ale made him do something irredeemably stupid, but it wasn't really in his nature to leave a lady on her own in the middle of the night, even if she could slay a darkspawn at a hundred paces without batting an eye. He looked around for something to do to occupy himself and settled for picking up the remains of their dinner, pouring the rest of the ale out. Never again, at least not when a woman was in attendance.

Soon enough she was done, and bidding her animal companions farewell for the evening before slipping out of the pen again. He accompanied her back to the Wardens' camp, where the celebration appeared to have largely died down as the men retired for the evening in preparation for the coming battle. Cailan and Duncan, at least, were nowhere in sight.

Alistair dropped the plates amongst the stack of like plates and the remains of dinner and walked with her to their row of tents. "Well, I guess this is good night then. Sleep well, sister."

"Good night, Alistair," Kara said with a smile, and slipped into her tent. Alistair made his way to his own tent, with a bemused expression. Having a woman in the Wardens was going to be an interesting experience, it seemed.


	6. The Joining Part III

Despite the late previous night, Kara rose early, as was her habit. She slipped out of her tent to find the camp just beginning to stir. A flat-ear woman stood before her tent, arms full of maps and scrolls.

"Excuse me, ser, pardon me. Is there something you need?" she stammered, apparently unnerved by the other elf's sudden appearance from the tent.

A number of comments came to the Dalish elf's mind regarding elves living in servitude to humans, but she pushed them away. Now was not the right time for such things. "A place to bathe would be appreciated," she said instead.

The flat-eared woman bobbed her head. "You might try the regular army camp, ser. You're the only woman in the Grey Warden camp, but there are some women amongst the king's soldiers. It's just over that way," she said, indicating the direction with a nod of her head.

Kara took note of the direction and thanked the other woman. It would be a very welcome change to get out of her dirty leathers and into something fresher. All of her things were still in the kennels as well – she had forgotten to move any of her possessions the previous night. Time to remedy that now, before the day truly became busy.

She visited the kennels first, greeting Anari and Maera and gathering a fresh set of clothing and some of the soap the clan had packed for her, packing it all into one of the smaller satchels that she could sling over a shoulder. The rest could wait until she was clean.

A ringing voice attracted her attention as she passed through the fortress. "In the name of Andraste, I bless you today. May you find favor in the Maker's eyes. So may it be." The speaker was a young woman, dressed in robes emblazoned with a golden sun. She held her hands outstretched over a pair of soldiers – a priest of the human Chantry, most likely.

The priest looked in Kara's direction as the soldiers departed. "Greetings, child," she said. "Will you accept the Maker's blessing this day, before the army marches out?"

"I know nothing of your Maker, priest," Kara replied. "Why would he bless me?"

"You do not know of the Maker?" The woman looked shocked, scandalized even. "Surely you have heard of His bride, Andraste?"

"My people tell tales of Andraste, who with the hero Shartan lead the Elvhenan to freedom, away from those who held us in captivity for so long. For that, she is revered, as few humans are." Kara paused a moment before continuing. "It was also her Chantry, though, that declared the march that destroyed our homeland."

"Ah, you are a Dalish wanderer then, I presume? Unusual, to find one of your ilk amongst civilized lands," the priest said thoughtfully. "Well, the Maker will not refuse to bless you, if you are willing to receive Him."

The Dalish Warden shook her head. "I follow the old gods, as my people have long before the days of Andraste and her Maker. You may offer your blessings, priest, but they mean little to me."

"Then I do bless you, elf, in the name of Andraste and the Maker above," the human woman intoned gravely. "May the Chant of Light carry your name to the ears of our Lord."

"And may the Creators guide your path, priest," Kara replied, equally grave, offering a respectful bow before turning to leave. She walked away without bothering to look back to see the priest's response.

Soon enough, she made her way through the neat rows of tents that made up the main army encampment. Interspersed were what appeared to be common areas – places for eating, equipment repair, and the like, arranged around ancient crumbling walls that still formed passageways and dead-end alleys.

"Well, well, what have we here? Someone likes their knife-ears painted, eh?" She turned to find a group of men, human men, approaching from one end of the corridor of tents. The speaker was a stocky man, still in splint mail armor, his companions similarly outfitted. Likely a group of soldiers just coming off watch then. "Wonder how far the paint goes down?" the soldier said with a leering grin. "Shall we find out?" He moved towards her, his companions fanning out.

Kara stiffened – she had never recovered her sword and dagger after the Joining ritual. She still had her hunting knife, and her mother's daggers in her boots, but even so, she didn't want to actually kill these men. She remembered well Duncan's admonition to Alistair before they had ventured into the Wilds, that the Grey Wardens could not afford to antagonize anyone else in the army. If it could be helped, she would bring no extra trouble to her new clan.

Still, the weight of her blades would have been comforting, and would have served, perhaps, to deter such unwanted attentions. There was no one else in sight in the line of tents, so she stepped back, hoping to find an alternate path behind her. Her way was barred, however, by stone partitions and tent walls.

"Come on, knife ears. No place left to go." The man's companions had blocked off the one exit, and he stepped towards her again.

She decided to try a different tactic. "I am no slave for your use, shem. I am a Grey Warden."

"A Grey Warden!" the man scoffed. "The Wardens would never take elven scum like you. Least not for fighting darkspawn. " He leered at her again.

Kara pulled free the pendant that Alistair had given her the night before, marked with the gryphon sigil. "I _am_ a Grey Warden."

The soldier stepped close to her suddenly, close enough to smell the reek of his unwashed body, and snatched the pendant from her hand. The chain pulled taut around the back of her neck. "What's this? This is the Warden mark," the band leader growled. "A whore and a thief, is it?" He stepped closer, so that she could smell his foul breath. "What we do to you is going to pale to what the Wardens will do, once we turn you over. You should have picked someone else to work your thieving ways on."

He seized her roughly and shoved her around into the arms of one of his men, who pinned her arms behind her back. It was an amateur maneuver – she could break his grip and reach her hunting knife easily enough, she knew. Still, there had to be a way to end this without fighting her way through the entire group. If it came to that, even if she was careful, at least one of these men was likely to die.

Kara met the stocky soldier's gaze coolly as he tried to stare her down. The fact that he couldn't unnerve her seemed to infuriate the man. He glared at her a moment longer, then struck her across the face, hard enough to make her stagger except for the man that held her in place.

No, she realized, there might not be another solution. Duncan was just going to have to understand, she hadn't picked this fight. She tensed, planning her next few actions before the man could strike her again.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" The voice was familiar, and wholly unexpected. The men parted, and Alistair stepped into view. He looked levelly from the man still holding her to the group's leader.

The stocky man grinned. "Well well, you're in trouble now, wench. That there is a _real_ Grey Warden." He looked up at Alistair. "What we have here, ser, is a knife-eared thief. Tried to claim she was a Warden." The soldier pulled the pendant from her neck, snapping the chain, and tossed it to Alistair, who caught it deftly.

At a motion from his companion, the man holding her shoved her in Alistair's direction. Her brother Warden steadied her with a hand on her arm, and though his hand remained there, his grip was gentle. "Are you alright?" he murmured, though his eyes never the soldier's face.

"I'm fine," she said quietly.

"You can give that to its proper owner, and tell him this is the whore who stole it," the soldier said with a grin. "I expect he'll enjoy punishing her. And might be he'll be grateful enough to us for catching her that he'll let us help, yes?"

"Well, the first won't be a problem," Alistair said mildly. "Since its owner is right here." He held the pendant out and dropped it into Kara's open hand. She rather enjoyed the soldier's splutter. From the smile tugging at Alistair's lips, it amused him too. "And as to the matter of the thief's punishment, I rather think she'd be more than happy to let you…participate."

He looked down at her, and though his face remained solemn, she could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Well, what do you think?"

"He was so eager to lay his hands upon me, it seems fitting he be given his chance," Kara said evenly. "Single combat?"

"Right now?" the soldier asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"If you like," she said with a casual shrug. She knew what he saw – a seemingly unarmed elf, or barely armed, if he had noticed her hunting knife, and with the barest of armors. In comparison, he was well-armored and bore a sword at his back, in addition to having superior weight and height. He still thought her an easy target. She intended to teach him differently.

"No interference?" He turned his apprehensive gaze towards Alistair.

"None whatsoever," Alistair confirmed. "So long as your companions agree to the same."

"And what's the winner get?"

"The victor may name the terms of defeat," she said lightly. She saw it in his eyes – he thought still to bed her. Disgusting, these human men. Thank the Creators those amongst the Wardens seemed different thus far. Kara looked to her new Warden brother as the group made their way to an open square amidst the tents. Alistair kept his face calm, though she saw concern in his eyes. Still, he made no attempt to dissuade her, a fact that she appreciated greatly.

They reached the square, and she situated herself before her opponent, their companions lining the square. The commotion was attracting the attention of the waking soldiers, and the square was lining with them. It was just as well – the more people who saw this little lesson the better.

The stocky soldier unsheathed his blade with an ugly smile. "Well, come on then, knife ears. I'll introduce you to my sword. And then maybe you'll get to meet my other weapon." His companions cheered and joined in his laughter.

He launched himself at her with a shout. Kara waited until his weight was committed to the action, and sidestepped, sweeping his legs from under him and sending the man sprawling on his back with one swift movement. She drew her daggers as she came up, and was atop him before the stunned man could recover his feet. She plunged her blades towards the shem's head, leaving thin trails of blood along his cheeks as they slammed into the ground on either side. Before the terrified man could draw a breath, her hunting knife was pressed against his neck.

"Do you yield?" she hissed. The soldier started to nod, but froze again when he felt the knife edge against his throat. Around them, the crowd had gone quiet. "Tell me, shem. Do you have children?"

The man swallowed hard. "Two," he whispered. "A son, and a daughter. Have mercy, Maker, please have mercy," he pleaded.

"Then these are my terms," she said quietly. "Teach your son and your daughter not to judge a person's worth by the shape of their ears." Kara pulled the blade from his neck and resheathed it. "And for their sakes, it is a lesson you had best learn well yourself. Your next mistake might not prove as merciful." She retrieved her knives, wiping them free of dust along her leggings, and sheathed them again in her boots as she rose.

Kara walked through the line of soldiers, which parted before her. Alistair fell in step as she passed by him. "Impressive," he said. "You could have gotten free at any time. Why didn't you?"

"Duncan asked us not to antagonize the others here," she told him. "I didn't think killing soldiers would be appreciated."

"I'm fairly certain he didn't mean at your own expense though." Alistair frowned, inspecting the already-darkening bruise along her cheek. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, I promise. And I wasn't going to give him a second opportunity. But then you came along." She looked at him sidelong. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. Duncan sent me to look for you – he wants you to accompany him to a meeting with the king. I asked around, a servant said you might have come this way, then I felt you. The taint in your blood," he elaborated when she looked at him curiously. "Just like we can sense darkspawn, we Grey Wardens can feel each other too. Useful when you're trying to find one person in an army. You'll start to feel it too, with time."

"The meeting was set to start shortly after I left the Grey Warden camp. Do you think you're up to attending?" Alistair asked her.

She sighed – apparently bathing would have to wait a little longer. "Yes, though I would prefer time to at least change into something cleaner. This is not entirely suitable for a meeting with a king."

"You women, always worried about what you're wearing." He laughed and winked at her when she scowled at him. "But yes, I think we have time at least for that."

His mood seemed to sober as they walked back to the Grey Warden encampment, brows creasing as though he were deep in thought. "Alistair?" she finally ventured. "Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Yes, just thinking. Something Duncan said to me earlier. It's nothing." He tried to smile, but Kara could see how it fell flat. She wondered, but as it seemed he had no desire to elaborate, she decided not to pursue the matter.

They made their way back to her tent, Alistair waiting patiently outside while she quickly changed into a fresher pair of soft Dalish leathers. When she was ready, he led her to the meeting spot, stopping short of entering himself.

"Go on then," he said, motioning towards the ruined hall. "If the King wants to see you, you shouldn't keep him waiting. He might get mad, start to cry, you'll feel bad, and well, it won't be pretty." He flashed her another smile, more genuine this time, before taking his leave.

Kara made her way through the hall to find Duncan, the King, and an imposing third man already in a heated discussion over the coming battle.

King Cailan's voice was the first to become clear as she approached. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty." The Warden Commander confirmed. Heads turns as she drew nearer, acknowledging her arrival. Duncan arched an eyebrow when he saw her, most likely noticing the bruising along her cheekbone, but before he could comment, Cailan spoke out.

"Ah, and here is our newest Grey Warden. Let me again extend my congratulations."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Kara replied with a small bow.

"Every Grey Warden is needed, now more than ever." The human king smiled broadly, much to the dismay of the third man.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan," he growled. "We must attend to reality."

"Fine, Loghain. Speak your strategy," the king said, annoyance clear in his voice. So this was Teyrn Loghain, said to be a great strategist and hero to the Fereldens. She studied him with interest, until a new voice broke into the meeting. A human soldier made his way through the hall, anger clear in his bearing.

"Duncan!" the man growled. "We need to have a word."

"Of course, Captain," Duncan replied. "But as you can see, I am currently in a meeting with the king and Teyrn Loghain. Surely this can wait…"

"No, now." The captain pointed an accusing finger in Kara's direction. "This so-called new recruit of yours nearly killed one of my men. She attacked him and used some kind of elven witchery on him – he refused to even accuse her. She's an apostate, I tell you, and she should be dragged to the templars and put down like the rabid animal she is before she uses her witchery on you or Maker forbid the king or…"

Duncan interrupted the man's tirade. "Kara," he said calmly. "Are any of these accusations true?"

"No, Commander," she answered warily. Would he believe her word over that of a man who held authority in the king's army? "Alistair was there, he can vouch for what…"

"No, there is no need," Duncan reassured her. "You heard her, Captain. She is one of my Grey Wardens and a woman of character. As such, I vouch for her behavior, and I will take her word over yours, in any matter."

"This is an outrage!" the captain fumed. He turned to the king. "Your Majesty! I demand justice or…"

"Captain, Duncan has spoken," King Cailan said, finality in his voice. "If he sees no need for further action, then I trust that none is necessary. I believe the matter is settled." The captain gaped for a moment, then spun on his heel and stalked out of the ruined hall. Duncan and King Cailan returned their attention immediately to the maps spread out over the long table, but Kara noted the teyrn's glower linger on her a moment before he joined the other two men.

It occurred to her then that Alistair had been right. Duncan had believed in her without question, and would do the same for any of his Wardens. It was what Keeper Marethari would have done. And she had brother Wardens willing to stand by her side. It was like having a clan again. No, she _did_ have a clan again.

Suddenly, despite the impending battle and the darkspawn threat, the world felt right and whole once more.

-~0~-

"And thus it was that Karaleyna of the Dalish knew herself to be something more, Karaleyna of the Grey Wardens, as well," Merrill intoned. The children, who had been listening with rapt attention, cheered for their heroine.

"Do many of the Dalish become Grey Wardens, Keeper?" one of the young boys asked shyly.

"In the days before Karaleyna, no," she told him. "There had not been a Dalish Warden since the defeat of the Fourth Blight, many centuries before. Today though, there are a number of our people who have followed in her footsteps."

"Do you think I could join the Wardens, maybe, one day?" he asked her.

"Perhaps, da'len, perhaps. But it is nearly time for you all to head to bed."

"No!" the protest rose from the gathered children almost immediately. "One more story, Keeper, please!"

Merrill shook her head with a smile. It was always one more story. "Very well then, one more…"


	7. To Kill an Ogre

"Well, da'len, you may choose one final story for the night," Merrill told the gathered children. "Choose wisely."

Those children from the clans present for the Arlathvhen looked amongst themselves, but the children from her own clan immediately began clamoring for their favorites.

"The one with the ogre, Keeper, please! The one with the ogre!" one child cried out, and soon it became a chant, as even the visiting children joined in.

"The one with the ogre, is it? Very well then, but that's the last one for tonight." Merrill opened the book and the children settled in to listen again.

-~0~-

"I hope this is the last floor." Alistair sounded as exasperated as she felt – it seemed they had been fighting their way through the tower for hours. It was supposed to have been a simple task – get to the top, light the beacon when the signal came. There certainly weren't supposed to be darkspawn here, ahead of the army. Kara didn't want to think what the implications of that might be for the rest of the Grey Wardens and the king's men, fighting below.

"Come on, let's go," Alistair said, motioning to the door before them. "We've surely missed the signal by now." She followed him up the stairs, through the door, the tower guard and the Circle mage who had joined them close on their heels. Thank the Creators for the king's insistence that Grey Wardens light the beacon fire – all might have been lost had it been left to just the few men originally stationed here, who had fled in a panic when the darkspawn had appeared.

Alistair moved warily up the stairs to the next floor – likely he felt the presence of more darkspawn ahead. Kara drew another arrow as they topped the stairs, readying herself for the next opponent as the top floor of the tower opened before them, at long last. In the middle of the room, however, was an enormous creature, like none she had seen before. It turned its massive horned head towards them as it heard them approach, looking up from the corpse it had been feeding on.

"Maker's breath, an ogre," Alistair whispered in horror beside her. Their companions faltered to a halt beside the two Grey Wardens, frozen in terror. Any indecision on their parts was removed when the beast dropped its meal and charged them with a roar, spraying blood and spittle.

They scrambled, the two Wardens moving in opposite directions to dodge away from the ogre. It moved surprisingly fast for such a large creature. Kara pulled the mage along with her, glancing to the side long enough to see that that the tower guard had followed Alistair out of the darkspawn's range.

The four of them regrouped quickly, Alistair and the guard moving in to engage the ogre while Kara and the mage targeted it from afar. Her arrows did little past the ogre's thick hide, however, and the beast moved too quickly for her to effectively target more vulnerable areas like its eyes. Finally she set aside her bow and quiver in frustration, intending to draw her blades and join the melee.

A shouted warning was all the notice they had – Kara turned and tackled the mage to the ground just as the boulder flew over, narrowly missing the man's head. Before they had regained their footing, the ogre had crossed the distance, moving faster than any of them had believed possible. Like in her dream after the Joining, Kara found the breath crushed from her lungs, aloft in the ogre's grasp. This time, however, her arms were pinned to her sides – there was no way to reach a weapon, no way to free herself, no way to breathe. It could not end like this – she would not allow it, not without at least taking the beast with her. But the ogre's grip tightened, and it seemed she could hear bones crack as her vision grew dark.

The iron grip vanished suddenly, and she fell unceremoniously to the ground. Her vision cleared to reveal a figure in splintmail before her, sword and shield upraised, as the ogre roared in pain. The mage knelt by her side as Alistair and the guard pushed the creature further back. Kara struggled to rise, but every breath was fiery agony and her legs shook beneath her.

The battle raged on as she fought to breathe, and though the ogre bled from many wounds, it showed no signs of slowing. Too much time had already passed – Duncan and the other Grey Wardens were relying on them to light the beacon. Something had to be done to end this soon, before it was too late.

"Alistair!" she tried to yell, but pain made her catch her breath, not nearly loud enough to be heard over the ogre's roars and the ringing song of swords. Kara turned to the mage at her side instead. "Tell him," she gasped, trying to breathe shallowly, "to turn it around. Need its back to me." The mage looked at her dubiously, but conveyed her instructions to her brother Warden, who raised his sword to indicate that he'd heard. Together, he and the guard maneuvered the ogre around until its back was to her.

She stumbled over to retrieve her bow and arrows. "Help them distract it," Kara hissed to the mage as she fitted an arrow, sighting the ogre. The man nodded and moved off to the side, lifting his hands to cast a spell.

She drew the bowstring back, but the sudden stab of pain from her surely broken ribs caused the arrow to fly wide of its mark, ricocheting off Alistair's shield instead. "Hey, watch it!" he yelled. She waved her free arm in a brief gesture of apology, grimacing against the pain. Kara took a steadying breath, willing the pain away, just for now. She shoved it aside, locked it away. There would be time after the battle for such things, but now, she could not afford to falter.

The Dalish elf raised her bow again, sharpening her focus to a single arrow at a time. One by one they flew, and it didn't matter that the ogre's movement cause their placement to be less than precise. They were close enough. To her right, the mage's arms had lowered, the man looking exhausted and incapable of casting many more spells. Alistair and the guard, too, were obviously tiring as they dodged the ogre's wild, powerful swings, landing their own blows when they could. It was time to end this.

Her father's notes on the ancient Dalish sword forms explained that they had been drawn from observations of the wild things – the sweep of a hawk's wings, the powerful blow of a bear's paws, the swift strike of the hunting cat's claws. It was the cat that had always enthralled her – graceful, beautiful, quick and deadly. She had spent so many hours in the wilds with Tamlen, stalking the cats as they followed their own prey, watching their movements so she could better emulate them, how they fought and killed. Often they slew with one deadly strike to the throat, choking the life from their prey, but there was no way to utilize that against the far larger ogre. But there was another way…

Kara dropped her bow to the ground, wanting no hindrance to her movements. She sent a swift prayer to the Creators, to Andruil of the hunt that she might be swift and sure, to Elgar'nan of vengeance to guide her blades, to Mythal the mother to protect her Warden clan until this battle could be won. Steeling herself again, she raced for the ogre.

The darkspawn was easily twice her height, but that was what the arrows had been for. She scaled up the ogre's back, using her arrows as hand- and footholds. The task was made infinitely more difficult by the wild thrashing of the ogre – every jerk sent waves of agony through the bruises and broken bones, but she gritted her teeth and kept climbing.

One arrow broke in her hand, nearly causing her to fall from her precarious position. Kara dropped the useless shaft and pulled her hunting knife instead, plunging it to the hilt into the creature's back. The ogre reacted with an angry roar, apparently noticing her presence for the first time. It reached behind, trying to pluck her from its back, and she flattened herself against it, doing her best not to gag from the awful smell. Before it could reach her, however, the beast returned its attention to the humans in front of it who had apparently taken advantage of their opponent's distraction to renew their assault.

Kara returned to her task, finally pulling herself up within reach of her goal. One swift, precise blow to the base of the neck, her blade separating the bones to pierce the spine itself, like a hunting cat's teeth. This battle would be over, the beacon could be lit. It was becoming increasingly hard to breathe, more than likely broken ribs had become something worse. But it didn't matter, as long as she could slay the ogre before she fell. As long as Alistair could light the beacon, alert the teyrn's men, then her duty to the Wardens could be satisfied.

She steadied herself, drawing her sword, preparing to strike. The ogre twisted suddenly, and the blade fell from her hand as she made a desperate bid to keep her balance, latching a hand onto one of the beast's horns. Kara pulled herself back up, positioning herself to try again. From her vantage, she caught a glimpse of her brother Warden – the incredulous look on his face would have been highly amusing under different circumstances. She drew her knife, keeping one hand tight around the ogre's horns until she was ready, and plunged the blade into the base of the darkspawn's neck with a wild Dalish war cry, twisting the blade with both hands as it went in. The ogre's knees buckled beneath it, and the beast tumbled with a mighty crash, throwing her free as it fell.

-~0~-

"Holy Maker," the guard beside him breathed. Alistair had to agree, he'd never seen anything quite like the way his fellow Warden had taken down the ogre. He looked in concern to where she lay, unmoving, in a crumpled heap where she had been flung when the beast fell. His immediate instinct was to see to her, but he knew his first duty was to light the beacon – Duncan was relying on him. The mage by her side could do more for her anyways.

Alistair forced himself instead to focus on his task – lighting the beacon. He pulled his tinderbox out of his pack and used flint and steel to start the blaze. Soon the beacon fire was roaring – Teyrn Loghain's men would charge, the darkspawn defeated, and maybe the Blight stopped here, before any real damage was done. With the beacon lit, he moved to where the mage still crouched at his Dalish companion's side. The tower guard had returned to the floor's entrance, to stand nervous watch there.

"How is she?" Alistair asked, crouching by the mage.

"It looks bad, ser," the mage answered. A quick glance was enough for him to agree with the mage's assessment – his fellow Warden's breaths came shallowly and she looked decidedly pale, an unhealthy grey tone to her skin.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" he asked the mage, who shook his head in reply.

"No ser. I'm only fresh out of the Tower myself, this was supposed to be an easy assignment." The mage still shook slightly, though whether from exhaustion or more directly from the dead ogre, Alistair couldn't tell. "Senior Enchanter Wynne always despaired over my ability to learn healing spells."

They needed a healer, and quick. "Guard!" he called to the man standing by the floor entrance. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name," Alistair apologized as the man came closer.

"It's Walter, ser," the guard said, with a polite bow of his head.

Alistair nodded. "Walter, then. We need a healer up here, now. Do you think you can get back to camp, see if anyone is free? We should have cleared the tower of darkspawn on the way up."

The guard saluted. "Right, ser, I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he pelted down the staircase. There was nothing left to do but wait then.

Alistair occupied himself with locating his fallen Dalish companion's weaponry. He slung the bow and quiver over his own shoulder and located her blades, pulling the two knives from where they were embedded in the ogre's corpse. He grunted a little as he freed the killing blade from the monster's spine, where it was well and truly embedded. How she had managed to wedge it in so well as badly injured as she must have been mystified him. Duncan had chosen his newest recruit well, it seemed. She'd do the Wardens proud if she survived this battle. If she survived. The thought of having to tell Duncan that she hadn't made him sick to his stomach.

No, he realized suddenly. That sinking feeling was due to something else entirely. Darkspawn, a vast number of darkspawn, below them in the tower. Maker's breath, the amount of taint! He threw Kara's weapons into her quiver and freed his sword and shield as he raced back to where he had left his two companions. He was nearly half-way back and had started to shout a warning when the door burst open and the dark tide roared into the room.

He barely felt the first two arrows that hit him. He did feel the blade that ran him through, and the floor as his knees hit hard. The last thing he saw before the darkness overtook him was the mage going down under a wash of darkspawn and his fellow Warden being swallowed under tainted mass.

Then all went black.

-~0~-

Silence reigned in the circle for a moment, while the children held their breaths. Finally, one trembling voice spoke out.

"They didn't…die, did they, Keeper Merrill?" the child asked tremulously.

"Don't be silly, of course they didn't," scoffed Tenerin. "Karaleyna defeated the Blight!"

"Tenerin," Merrill scolded, "mind your manners." She turned to the first child again. "No da'len, they did not perish atop the tower." The boy continued to look up at her, face full of childish fear and anxiety, eyes big and half-moist with tears. Merrill sighed. "I'm going to have to continue the tale, aren't I?"


	8. The Witch of the Wilds Part I

_A/N Thanks for being patient and continuing to read, everyone! My professor has all of my thesis so I thought I would take the opportunity to post the next bit - it's been far too long since an update! Two and a half more weeks until my defense (gasp) so we just have to be patient for a little while longer, and I'll be free again! Many thanks to SidheKate and SurelyForth who let me steal game dialogue from them (which of course belongs to Bioware in the first place) so I didn't have to play through things again just to get it!_

Kara woke to an aching chest, and the disconcerting sensation of being completely surrounded by solid walls. The place was wholly unfamiliar, and she had no memory of how she had arrived here. She lay still for a moment, taking further stock of her surroundings. The fetid smell of a swamp filled her nostrils. Light trickled through some opening, and the little sounds of life could be heard outside. Kara realized with some surprise that she wore little other than bandages. A great many bandages.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother will surely be pleased." Kara turned her head as she sat up gingerly to find the speaker – a feral-eyed woman dressed in rags. "I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten and we are in the Wilds where I have just bandaged your wounds. You are welcome, by the way." Morrigan, the woman who had found them at the ruined Warden outpost in the Wilds.

The human woman continued. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

Kara thought for a moment, but found only the ogre. "No, I remember nothing."

"Mother managed to save you, though it was a close call. What is important is that you live." Morrigan held her eyes in a frank gaze. "The man who was to have responded to your signal…quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred."

Massacred. All of them? The king and his army…Duncan, and the rest of the Grey Wardens? Overwhelming desolation and the bitter taste of failure clawed at her. Gone, all of them gone, and herself clanless once more. But she had not been alone at the tower.

"Alistair, what of him?" She tried to hide the desperation in her voice – it would not do to let a stranger hear such things.

Morrigan's lips curled in disdain. "The suspicious dimwitted one who was with you before? He is outside, by the fire. He did not take the news well. I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish."

"They were his friends, his family!" Kara exclaimed, shocked that the woman could be so callous.

"And do you think they would encourage his blubbering? If so, they are not the sort of Grey Wardens the legends note," Morrigan countered cooly.

Kara stared askance at this strange woman before her, who could not comprehend that clan should be cherished, and mourned when lost. The look was apparently lost on the human woman, who either did not see or simply did not care.

"Mother asked to see you when you awoke," she said, handing Kara her hunting leathers. Several long slices in the garments had been neatly repaired, injuries she had no memory of taking. They did, however, correspond to bandages wrapped around midriff and leg. The Creators had been with her in some fashion then, to survive so many wounds. And one other.

"Thank you for helping us, Morrigan," she said, looking up at the other woman.

"I…you are welcome," Morrigan replied. She seemed surprised at the gratitude, though she recovered her aplomb quickly enough. "Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

"Were my injuries severe?" the elf asked, fingering a neat row of stitches in her tunic before shrugging it over her head, wincing slightly at still sore ribs.

"Yes," she acknowledged with some hesitation, "but I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal."

"And Alistair? Is he all right?" Kara stood to pull on her leggings, fastening the white halla hide belt over the top. Her hunting knife, she noted, was absent from its sheath. She was pleased to find her legs remained steady, with no residual weakness.

"He is…as you are. He excused himself when I began rebandaging your wounds. An…unusual man." She smiled in a most mysterious manner. "You may see for yourself. I will call Mother in."

Morrigan walked to the door, a rickety wooden thing, and pulled it open. A few moments later, her mother, whom Kara recognized from their earlier foray into the Wilds, entered the room followed by her brother Warden.

"See?" the older woman said with a grin. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Alistair looked in Kara's direction with surprise, relief evident in his eyes. "You…you're alive! I thought you were dead for sure." He laughed, a short thing full of disbelief.

"I'm fine," Kara said reassuringly.

"This doesn't seem real." Alistair shook his head. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," Morrigan's mother said grumpily.

"I didn't mean…but what do we call you?" Alistair stammered apologetically. "You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," the elder woman said with a wave of disdain. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair stared at her. "_The_ Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds."

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth retorted. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?" She turned to look at the elven woman. "And you? Do your people still tell tales of me? You are Dalish, are you not?"

"I have heard of the _asha'belannar_, the woman of many years, yes," Kara answered with a careful nod. "A woman of much power."

Flemeth laughed, a cackling thing. "Age and power are relative – it depends on who is asking. Compared to you, yes, on both counts. But enough of this," she said abruptly. "Come Morrigan, let us leave these two to talk. I imagine they have much to discuss." She turned and walked out the door, her daughter following closely on her heels after a long parting glance.

With the departure of the two strange human (were they truly human?) women, so too went the distraction. The full force of the loss of the Wardens struck like a thunderbolt and it was all she could do not to wail in despair. But the grief-ravaged face of her brother Warden was before her, and he was all the clan she had left.

She sat cross-legged where she had awakened, and indicated a spot before her for him to sit. He did so mechanically, like a man still numb from shock, sitting heavily. "Do you want to talk? About Duncan?" she asked gently. More so than any other Warden, Alistair had always spoken of Duncan with a certain reverence.

"You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as long as I did." He was trying to put on a brave front, but she could hear the desperate anguish in his voice, and the need for release.

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his loss." Kara reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "I just thought that you might need to talk."

Alistair remained silent for a moment before speaking again. "That morning…the morning we went to the tower, when Duncan sent me to find you? I mentioned that he looked tired, asked him if he had had too much fun the night before." He blew out a brief, harsh laugh. "He admitted to me that he'd started having the nightmares again…"

"I knew it, then, that we'd be losing him soon. With the nightmares…it was only a matter of time. I just never expected…I never thought…not so soon, not like that." He buried his head in his hands for a moment, unable to continue. Kara drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. This talk of nightmares was new to her – she imagined it had something to do with the dream she had had after the Joining. But to ask now would be a distraction, so she held her tongue and waited.

"He saved me, you know. Duncan saw I wasn't happy at the Chantry and he conscripted me. He was the first person who cared what I wanted." And from there, the stories flowed. He talked, not really to her, about his time spent with the Grey Wardens and Duncan in particular. Kara asked questions occasionally, but mostly she listened, until finally he stopped, as if he had run out of things to say.

"It probably sounds stupid," he said at last, "but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him."

Kara thought back to the caves, and to Tamlen, who she had abandoned there to his fate. "No, I understand completely," she said quietly.

"Of course, I'd be dead then, wouldn't I?" Alistair shook his head. "It's not like that would make him happier." He turned to look at her then, for the first time since he had started speaking again. "Thank you. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little."

She waved away the gratitude. "He was a good man, and my friend too."

He offered a weak smile then, but it looked genuine, like that of a man who, if he had not lost a great burden entirely, had at least shared the load with someone else. "That's good to hear. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who remembers him well." He looked around, as if only now noting how the light in the room had dimmed and become colored by the setting sun.

"Maker's breath, I must have been talking for hours. And you listened, all that time…" he trailed off, then gathered himself again. "I guess we should see what Morrigan and her mother are up to, shouldn't we?" Alistair stood first, then extended a hand to help her rise. Together, they made their way outside, to where Morrigan and the woman who called herself Flemeth stood around a bubbling pot.

"Ah, and so they emerge again," Flemeth said in her strange sing-song way. "Are you ready now to set aside your grief? 'In the dark shadows before you take vengeance,' my mother used to say. Duty must come now."

"Duty? What are you talking about?" Alistair asked, the confusion evident on his face.

"It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight, or did that change when I wasn't looking?" The elderly woman fixed the two Grey Wardens with a chillingly direct gaze.

"But we were fighting the darkspawn!" Alistair fumed. "The king had almost defeated them! Why would Loghain do this?"

"Now _that_ is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." Flemeth spoke in riddles again, and Kara wondered just how much the woman knew, how much she wasn't saying. Her people told stories of this woman, how her knowledge surpassed what any mortal should know, through the power of dark arts. Kara watched her intently as Flemeth continued to speak. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon," Alistair gritted around clenched teeth.

"Ah, Old Gods awakened and tainted by darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says it is a fearsome and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history." Flemeth gave a little cackle with the last.

"It is this archdemon we need to find, yes?" Kara said, looking to Alistair.

"By ourselves?" Alistair turned towards her incredulously. "No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at his back. Not to mention, I don't know how!" He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army?" Flemeth asked pointedly. "It seems to me these are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?"

"I…I don't know." Alistair began to pace. "Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely!"

"Arl Eamon?" Kara repeated curiously, forming the sounds of the strange name cautiously. "Is this someone important who can help us?"

"I suppose….Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar, he still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle. I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet." He stopped pacing suddenly and whirled to look at her. "Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

"When the clan sent me away," and how proud she was for saying that calmly! "Keeper Marethari told me that our people made a vow long ago to aid the Grey Wardens in the fight against the darkspawn. I was sent with Duncan to fulfill that promise, but perhaps my people will offer more help."

"A vow…" he repeated thoughtfully. "Of course! The treaties!" There was an excited light in his eyes now. "Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

"I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me," Flemeth said dryly.

"So can we do this?" her brother Warden asked her, uncertainty replacing his earlier exuberance. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?"

"We must to end the Blight, yes?" she replied.

"So are you set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?" The two Wardens traded looks with each other.

"What choice do we have?" Kara asked solemnly. "We will do our duty."

"Good." Flemeth nodded decisively. "You will leave here in a few days, when your wounds have fully healed. And when you do, I have one more thing to offer you. When you leave, Morrigan will be going with you."

Morrigan turned sharply toward her mother. "_What?_"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!" The elder witch laughed inanely at her own joke.

Kara looked dubiously at her brother Warden and she could see the doubt and reluctance in his eyes. She, too, had no desire to involve anyone else in what would surely be a dangerous mission. "Our thanks, but if Morrigan does not wish to join us…"

Flemeth met her eyes with a direct stare. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan complained, annoyance clear in her voice.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance." The laughter drained from Flemeth's eyes now, replaced by heavy gravity. "They need you, Morrigan. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Morrigan swallowed, and nodded in acquiescence. "I….understand."

"As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives. Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

Kara met her eyes, mirroring the seriousness there. "We understand. Thank you, Flemeth. And thank you, Morrigan," she said, turning to the younger witch, who acknowledged with a hesitant nod.

"Eat and rest tonight." Flemeth gestured to the bubbling pot. "Soon enough you will have time for neither. Morrigan and I have preparations that must be made. We will return in the morning." After a pointed glance at her daughter, Flemeth disappeared into the trees. Morrigan followed close behind.

With the departure of their hosts, the two Grey Wardens traded uneasy glances with each other. Finally, Alistair shrugged and moved towards the pot, crouching to fill two bowls with what was revealed to be some sort of stew. They sat about the fire, both silent in their own personal contemplations.

Listening to the soft pop of fire, Kara was struck by how different it all was. There were no songs to Sylaise in thanksgiving for the hearth, no soft murmur to Andruil for the good hunt. Even the smell was different, lacking the sweet smoke that had been ever-present in her former life. The food tasted wrong. It had been so since leaving her people, but then, there had been a future amongst the Grey Wardens to ponder. And fear, were she to be completely honest. It had not been so noticeable in the rush of a new way of life. But now, now it all seemed to be slipping away.

The Grey Wardens were gone, all but herself and Alistair. A clan gained, and lost, all in the span of a few days. Duncan and the rest of the Wardens that she had barely begun to know. Maera, who had only been at Ostagar for her sake, and Anari. And not just her clan – part of her heritage was gone as well. Her father's bow, lost at the tower. And worse, the collected knowledge that had been the Keeper's final gift to her, to keep her people, and her parents close even as she journeyed far away. Every fiber of her that was Dalish protested the loss, but what could she do? Fight her way near-weaponless through a horde of darkspawn to see if anything had been spared? Or ask her brother Warden to give his life for history that was not his? No, there was nothing to do but mourn the loss privately. She hardly thought Alistair would understand, especially not in the face of losing Duncan.

Her hands shook with the effort of not breaking down then and there, but for her brother's sake, Kara was determined to stay strong. They had a monumental task ahead of them, a task that by all rights should be impossible. So close to breaking himself, he needed to believe they could do this, needed to believe she was capable and could make this happen. And so she would be….at least until he was somewhere else.

They finished the meal in silence as the setting sun lengthened the shadows about them, finally slipping beyond the treeline to leave the two Grey Wardens in darkness but for the low flicker of the dying fire. The symbolism of the event was not lost on her.

Eventually Alistair set his empty bowl next to the pair of similarly used vessels by the fire. "I guess we should get some sleep. We have a lot of work ahead of us," he said, rising. He offered a hand to help her up, but she declined with a shake of her head.

"Later. There are some things I must do first." He glanced at her curiously a moment longer before nodding and making his way into Flemeth's hut, the door creaking shut behind him. She waited several more long moments until it seemed unlikely he would reemerge before rising herself, moving towards the treeline.

Kara gathered wood to feed the fire, picking her way through the undergrowth by the growing light of the rising moon. None of the herbs she needed grew here in the swamplands, nor the cedar and oak that the rituals required, and in any case she could not have cut enough staves for all the lives lost. But she could keep vigil, and sing the songs, and call to the Creators, futile as it might be. Maybe tonight, they would hear and come down, and make everything right again.

She built the fire back up, setting the remainder of the fuel nearby, enough to last the night, singing Sylaise's thanks softly under her breath as the flames rose up. Taking a seat with the fire to her back, Kara looked up to the star-strewn night sky that had always seemed a sanctuary to her, though tonight it seemed empty and void of comfort.

Eyes shut, she called to mind the fallen – what she could remember of her fellow Wardens. Duncan's memory was the clearest, tall and dark, stern and yet kind. The king, too, was memorable with his open nature, kind smile, golden armor. The rest flickered past, mere snippets of memory, but important nonetheless. Thus armed, she began to sing, soft elven words from the days when death was not sudden and unanticipated, did not swoop in to steal loved ones away between one breath and the next, days when death was no more menacing than a waking sleep. And then it was her Tamlen there, in her mind's eye, lovingly recreated from years of misadventure and mischief and sticking together through thick and thin. Her resolve finally crumbled, and as the the song faded away the tears she had fought throughout the day began to fall, and she wept silently for all the loss.

She was roused from half-slumber by something like a shove from a cold, wet nose. For a sleep-muddled moment, she wondered wildly if Fen'Harel himself had come, drawn by the scent of death and the souls wandering the Beyond in search of their rest. But the second nudge was accompanied by a whine, and it seemed unlikely that the Dread Wolf should make such a sound as he claimed his prey. Nor, she thought, would a trickster god possess the soft, expressive brown eyes that met her own in the light of the fire.

It seemed too much to ask that it be real, but the rough fur under her hands seemed real enough, as did the slobbery licks that the mabari hound soon covered her face in, so she wrapped her arms around Anari's neck and thanked Mythal for protecting at least one of her friends. And though she would have asked the Creators for nothing more than what she had now, she could not deny her joy when Anari pulled away and returned to drop a soggy, battered bag into her lap, from which fell the worn volume of her father's notes.


	9. The Witch of the Wilds Part II

_A/N Oh my, an update at long last! My poor story has suffered long enough at the hands of theses defenses and work and writer's block. But I'm back now! And I swear the next update won't take so long. Thanks for being patient, everyone, Kara's back in action!_

Eyes shut in concentration, she moved through the familiar motions of the dance, her mother's blades a familiar weight in her hands. The steps were meant to be quicker - she had not practiced these forms so slowly almost since she learned them years before, but despite Flemeth's most recent application of her healing magics early this morning muscles were still stiff and protesting use.

She danced as though against an imaginary opponent, blades moving to block unseen blows or strike against her foe. In the past, it might have been Tamlen who faced her. It had always been their pet theory that Keeper Marethari had passed on her predecessor's writings, invaluable as they were, as an attempt to keep them out of trouble by giving them something else to do, a distraction for Tamlen's boundless mischief, knowing that he would follow her lead.

Today, she ended the dance alone, offering a courteous salute to her nonexistent partner before opening her eyes to return the daggers to their place in her boots. Kara turned to where she had left Anari, only to find Alistair crouched there by the mabari, watching her.

"Ah, good morning," he said, starting a little as though guilty he had been caught spying. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to fight like that? Or are all the Dalish taught that?"

She shook her head as she walked towards them. "Not all of us. The sword forms were lost like most of our culture when my people were enslaved. Masters of the art are rare now, but there are bits and pieces of the forms scattered throughout the clans. My father was gathering those pieces together again. I learned from him."

His eyes looked distant as she said the last, something equal parts regret and hardness shading the hazel. "That must have been nice. My father wasn't a part of my life – he never taught me anything."

"Nor was mine," she replied sympathetically. "He died before I was born, my mother shortly after."

"You too?" he said, surprised. "But I thought you said…"

"That my father taught me?" she finished. Kara knelt in front of Anari to remove the leatherbound volume from beneath his paws. She hesitated a brief moment – the elders would not think kindly of sharing Dalish secrets with a shem – but this man was clan of sorts now, and they would be traveling in close proximity for the foreseeable future, if not the rest of their lives. It made no sense to hide such things from him.

"These are his notes," she said, laying them out before him. His eyes took in the careful drawings and diagrams, and the precise script of her father's hand, lines and curves so familiar to her. "The hawk swoops down from above, and its prey never sees the blow. Be like the hawk – strike like lightening, with speed and precision, and your foe will fall before you," she recited, tracing the words with a finger.

Alistair's eyes followed the motion, then looked up at her with confusion. "I thought you said you couldn't read?"

She shook her head. "I spent the last Arlathvhen, when the clans gathered together, trying to find the masters that my father had located. Some of them were kind enough to read his notes out for me."

"And you remember every word?" he said incredulously, staring at the goodly-sized volume before them.

"What I have heard," she said with a little shrug. "Pieces here and there. The entire history of my people is oral, this is but a little more."

"Still, that's remarkable…" He trailed off and the two sat in awkward silence for a time, neither quite knowing what to say. They had gone from potential comrades to the only two remaining members of their order in such a short period of time. It hadn't seemed so hard when friendship had been just a potential outcome, but now that it seemed a foregone conclusion, neither knew how to approach the other. They were so different from each other, where could they even begin?

Finally Alistair cleared his throat and spoke again. "If we're going to face the Blight, maybe we could spend some time sparring? I mean, if you're okay with that. We'll be fighting together and all that."

"That sounds like a good idea," Kara agreed. At least they had that in common. That and the taint polluting their blood.

Alistair stood and made his way back towards Flemeth's ramshackle hut. "I suppose you'll need your weapons back then, hmm? Can't go fighting the darkspawn barehanded and all." Kara watched him curiously. Her weapons? Had he managed to recover something from the tower then? Her eyes grew wide with amazement when he pulled forth her blades, resheathed, and her hunting dagger. Her quiver and her father's bow. Pieces of her heritage, her past life, thought lost to her and returned by her unlikely comrade.

She took the weapons from him with hands trembling slightly with gratitude. "Alistair, thank you. You have no idea how much this means…" And indeed, he looked a little surprised at her reaction, more earnest perhaps than he had expected. "The sword and dagger, 'dar'misu' and 'dar'misaan' we call them, are just weapons but this…this was my father's," she explained, cradling the bow carefully in her hands.

"He was not a hunter for long before he became Keeper of the clan, but he kept his father's bow for the day that he would have a child of his own to pass it to. After he died, Keeper Marethari passed it on to me, when I left for my first hunt." She traced one finger down the fine inlay shaping the ivy that curved its way across the bow.

"Can I ask you a question?" Alistair ventured when she paused, settling himself on the ground again. At her nod, he continued. "Back there, with the ogre. How in the Maker's name did you do that?"

"Do what, kill it?" His head bobbed in assent. "The sword forms were created in the days of Arlathan, when the elves were eternal and could spend millennia at a single task. The masters watched the animals and studied them, so that they could become one with them. Those who knew the old magic were able to trade their forms for that of the animals. Those who did not applied what they learned in other ways." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Tamlen and I, we used to watch the wild cats kill like that, by severing the spine."

"But how did you _get_ up there?" her brother Warden asked.

She smiled, remembering another time, a different kind of hunt. "One of the elder hunters accompanied me on my first hunt, along with Tamlen because he would not let me go alone. That year was lean, the winter had been very harsh. We were on the hunt for many days but caught nothing, and it seemed as though we would go home empty handed. We were returning to camp when Tamlen found something."

"I'm guessing not a deer," Alistair ventured.

Kara shook her head in reply. "A mother bear, hungry and desperate to feed her cubs. It was not right to kill her, but there was nothing about us other than the tall trees. So we used our arrows to form a ladder, and climbed into the trees."

"Clever," he commented. "I assume it worked?"

She smiled ruefully. "For Tamlen and I, but we were young and light. Our teacher was halfway up when the arrows broke under his weight, and he fell back to the ground, and the bear."

Alistair winced in response. "So what happened?"

Kara shrugged. "It was either let Master Kellen die, or kill the bear. So Tamlen and I came down from the tree, and we killed the bear."

"You killed the bear, just like that?" Alistair looked at her dubiously.

She shook her head again. "It was not an easy fight, by any means. Normally, we could have tried to scare her away, but she was starving and desperate. She nearly killed us all before we finally brought her down." She reached up to touch the string of wooden beads and claws about her neck. "Master Kellen gave us the bear claws to remember the day that we became full hunters in our own right, the youngest the clan had seen." And Tamlen had strung the claws onto the necklet she had inherited from her father, and presented it as his promise to wed her, children though they might have been.

"You two must have been quite the heroes then," Alistair commented, though he couldn't have been farther from the truth.

"No, the other elders chided us for our recklessness and said we were not ready for such responsibility." Always overprotective, the clan, fearful to lose the legacy their beloved Keeper had left them. And in the end it had not been bears or illness or shems which had stolen her away from them but the unstoppable, unbeatable force of the Blight. A force that now the two of them were to conquer. A sobering thought.

"In any case," she continued, "it was hardly a victory. After slaying the mother, we had to kill the cubs as well."

"What, why?" Alistair asked, startled.

"Without their mother, they would have starved to death," she explained. "It was either a quick, merciful death at our hands or dying slowly of starvation. Vir Assan, we call it, the Way of the Arrow. 'Let not your prey suffer.'"

"A touching sentiment," a sultry voice commented dryly from behind, startling them both. Morrigan stood in the open doorway of the hut, a worn and patched pack resting across one shoulder. "Shall we continue to chat while the Blight overruns us, or you ready to depart?"

The two Wardens traded glances with each other before rising. Now was as good a time to leave as any. "Do you have any suggestions on where we should go, Morrigan?" Kara turned to better see the human witch. "We will need supplies. Arrows especially, if we are to fight the darkspawn." She glanced down to the nearly empty quiver in her hand.

Morrigan considered her for a long moment, perhaps surprised that she would be consulted especially given the ill-concealed distaste in Alistair's eyes. Finally she appeared to make up her mind. "I suggest a village north of the Wilds. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there."

Kara looked to Alistair, who shrugged though there was more than a little doubt remaining in his eyes. She nodded their acquiescence then to Morrigan who acknowledged with her own curt head motion. As the Dalish woman moved to gather her meager belongings together, Alistair fell into step.

"Are you sure about this? Do you really want to take her along, just because her mother says so?" Alistair muttered as they walked. Kara wondered whether his reservations were due to Morrigan's admittedly disagreeable personality, or if it had more to do with her being what he called an apostate mage. The idea of fearing a person simply for possessing magic was so foreign to her – the Keepers were men and women to look up to, the ones to turn to when all else seemed dark. But this was a reminder, yet again, that this was no longer the world that she knew.

"I think that Flemeth is right. We need her help, Alistair, if we are going to defeat the Blight." It wasn't really the answer that he wanted to hear, but from the way that he sighed, he knew that she was right no matter how much he wanted to disagree.

"I suppose the Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them," he agreed reluctantly. "I just…I'm not sure we can trust her."

"The tales of the _asha'belannar _are not many amongst my people, but all tell of her cunning and machinations." Kara met her companion's eyes directly. "We may need Morrigan's help, but that does not mean we must trust her entirely."

Alistair brightened considerably at that. "Good, that's good. And very sensible of you. I'm glad that we're agreed on that." He stooped down to pick up his pack, the only one they had left between the two of them. "I guess we'd better get to it then. The sooner we defeat the Blight the sooner _she_ can go."

-~0~-

They spent the day traveling in awkward silence, since anything Alistair said was usually followed with a snipe from Morrigan. Kara contented herself with observing – her human companions as much as the land about them, Anari trotting along at her side. She kept her eyes open especially for signs of darkspawn, though Morrigan had promised that some trick of Flemeth's would keep the darkspawn away. Alistair too said that he felt none of the beasts nearby, but there was no sense in not being cautious. Careless hunters usually became dead hunters.

Morrigan left them only once in the day, to search for a suitable place to spend the night, she had said. She had turned into a hawk, there before their eyes, and flown off, leaving Alistair spluttering. Kara only watched with interest – such magic was known in the old days of Arlathan and still used by some of the Keepers of the clans today, though it was rare. While Alistair likely fretted over the illegal use of magic, Kara wondered how much Morrigan knew of the origins of her abilities, and what she might be able to share with the clans, were Morrigan ever of a mind to do such a thing.

Eventually she returned to them, in human guise this time, and led them to spot, nothing more than a dry patch amidst the surrounding swampland where they set up a meager camp for the night. Kara excused herself to see what she might find them for dinner. She had intended to take Anari with her, but found Morrigan by her side instead.

"Allow me, if you will," the witch said. "I am, after all, accustomed to providing for myself in these lands." Kara nodded her acquiescence, and the two headed deeper into the swamp together. They had not traveled for long when the human woman stopped. "Be you ready, Warden. Your target will make itself known soon." With that, Morrigan disappeared and a rangy wolf appeared in her place. The lupine form loped away, in search of prey.

The Dalish elf fitted one precious arrow to her bow – every shot would have to count until they could purchase more, or better still find the materials to make her own. One could not trust the humans to properly understand the makings of fine arrows, not when defeating the Blight hung in the balance. The chance for further contemplation was lost when a flurry of wings signaled Morrigan's successful flush, and the arrow was in flight a thought later. She did not see where her quarry had fallen, but Morrigan soon found her again, slain fowl in hand.

"A fine shot. It seems the stories of Dalish prowess with the bow were not exaggerated." The witch scrutinized the slighter woman for a few moments. "Are the stories of the wild magic true as well, I wonder?"

"Magic like your own, you mean?" Kara asked carefully as she hooked her bow over her shoulder. The bowstring was becoming ever so slack, another thing she would need to replace soon.

"Indeed. I have heard tale of such things amongst the Dalish,"the other woman replied as they began to walk back to the makeshift camp where they had left Alistair and Anari.

"There are some amongst the Keepers who use similar magic, yes," Kara answered finally, after some hesitation. She was giving away much information on her people today, it seemed, but Morrigan's knowledge might be a connection to their own history. Perhaps it was worth the risk. Morrigan had similar thoughts, it seemed.

"Interesting. I wonder if I was to ask one of your keepers of the origins of their magics if there would be any relation to what Flemeth taught me?" she mused.

"We know little about our origins," Kara replied. "But I am afraid that the Keepers would be unwilling to share even what small amount they know with an outsider."

"Ah, true." Morrigan nodded thoughtfully to herself. "Though I suspect that I have more in common with _your_ people than my own kind, but such is how it must be."

"We are very alike, you and I," Morrigan continued. "More similar to the animals than to what people like Alistair would consider civilized. The wilds call to us both." The witch pronounced her brother Warden's name like it left a foul taste in her mouth, but Kara could not disagree with the general truth of her statement. The wider human world was likely to be just as different to Morrigan as to herself. She and Alistair might have more in common in matters of personality, but in other ways she was much the same as Morrigan.

"What you say has merit," Kara agreed finally.

"I am pleased that you agree. You are more sensible than that silly fool of a man that you travel with. The Dalish are far more practical." Though they were approaching their camp, Morrigan did not lower her voice. She cared little, it seemed, for Alistair's opinion of her. She paused, just before entering circle of firelight about the camp. "You will appreciate this more than he would, I am sure."

The witch removed a satchel from over her shoulder and pressed it into the Dalish woman's hands. Kara opened it to find a bundle of wooden rods, seasoned and dried already, perfect for new arrows. A bundle of shaped arrowheads, barbed, the kind used for war, and sinew for binding and bowstrings. "Where did you get these?" she asked.

"Something I acquired while scouting earlier. Does it matter?" Morrigan replied, challenge in her voice. "We require them more than their previous owner, do we not?"

Her conscience pricked at her, but Morrigan was right. If ending the Blight was up to them and them alone, then the arrows were better in her hands than in their nameless former owner's. It was the cold, practical reality, but that didn't mean she had to like the idea. She accepted the offering wordlessly, flipping the satchel closed and looping the strap over her own head. Morrigan nodded in approval and headed into the camp proper. Kara followed close behind.

After their dinner, an awkward affair with little speech, Kara occupied her time with her arrows, fletching them with the feathers from the goose they had caught. Her hands moved with practiced ease over the task, allowing her mind to wander over the past few days, and the days to come in the company of these humans, so different from each other, and from her, in so many ways. And yet they were so alike in others.

Morrigan's voice interrupted her contemplations. "Shall we split the watch? Or had you planned to staying awake all of tonight as well? Do the Dalish not require sleep?"

"We sleep like any other," Kara replied. "First watch, then. I would finish my task here."

The other woman nodded curtly. "Allow me to be second then. I take my leave of you for now, Wardens." With that, Morrigan slipped into the darkness.

Alistair moved as though to make ready for bed himself, but paused before fully rising. He turned towards his elven companion. "You didn't sleep last night? Is everything okay?"

She waved away his concerns. "It was…" More information on her people. "A Dalish rite, for the dead."

"Oh." He sounded surprised. "Oh I see. For your friend, Tamlen, was his name?"

She was surprised in return, that he would remember Tamlen's name, and that he would sound so interested in the practices of her people. "Yes, but not only for him. For Duncan, and the king, and all the rest as well."

He was silent for a moment, recalling Duncan, most likely. "The Dalish don't practice cremation, do they? How do you honor the dead?"

"When we have the body," she paused, remembering that they did not, not for Tamlen or for Duncan or any of the others. "When there is a body, we bury it and plant a sapling above."

"That…sounds very beautiful. Life springing from death." And he sounded like he really meant it. She had been so ready to be ridiculed, to be considered a barbarian by the humans. Yet this one was respectful and kind and genuinely fascinated by her culture. "And when there is no body to bury?"

"We sing for them anyways, to call down the Creators to lead them home," she replied. "And keep vigil through the night so that the dead might not lose their way, or be led astray by Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf who roams the Beyond."

Alistair was quiet again for a few moments. "I wish I would have known. I would have liked to stay up with you, for Duncan. There's nothing else I can do for him…"

Kara watched him with pity in her eyes. He knew what it was to mourn for a lost clan, a lost family, perhaps as much as she did. Hahren Paivel's words flitted across her memory. "One of the elders told me a poem, after Tamlen…he said it was traditionally said at funerals. 'Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky, hast'ning to place one last kiss upon your eye,'" she recited softly, translating. "'Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber, softening the rolling thunder. Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense. During this, your last hour, only silence.'"

Silence reigned in the camp for a time as they remembered the Warden-Commander who had saved them both. Finally, Alistair rose, rather abruptly. "I…I should really get some sleep, before my watch." He backed away, though not before Kara caught the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. "But I…thank you, Kara. For remembering him." And then he had set himself across their little camp, busying himself with sleeping, or at least pretending to sleep.

Kara again kept vigil, hands busy with fletching arrows, but mind once more with all those they had lost.

-~0~-

She was in a land she recognized, yet it still seemed so unfamiliar. Perhaps it was the fog that covered all, obscuring the lay of the land and bases of the trees. Still she knew this place. And she knew the figure who sat at the water's edge, back turned to her.

"The singing…I cannot stop it."

"Tamlen?" she called softly. Kara knew his voice, though it was broken and ravaged by pain. The figure did not turn.

"Can you not hear it? The song?"

"Tamlen? Lethallin, is it you?" The figure turned, but it was not her Tamlen that faced her. His skin was grey and his eyes feverish, opaque.

The thing moved to a crouch. "You…" it whispered. Kara took a step closer, but it hissed at her. "You! You left me to die!"

"No." Kara denied the accusation in a quiet, pained voice. "No, I never wanted to leave you."

"The master told me. He says that you ran, to save yourself." The not-Tamlen stood and raised a finger accusingly. "The master commands your death." The woods behind him burst into flame, the fog suddenly burned away and silhouetted in the flickering light, Kara saw the dragon, the archdemon. It hissed in her brain, not so much a voice but a knowledge. Hate, darkness, and a focused malevolence that tried to overcome the very core of her being. Twisted, vile amusement that it could take that which was most dear to her and turn it against her.

"You left me there to die, and now I'm going to kill you!" The twisted form of Tamlen launched himself at her, the dragon laughing all the while.

-~0~-

She woke screaming, shooting out of her makeshift bed and into a pair of arms that she was too shaken and anguished to question. They surrounded her while she trembled, the dream still so real and too near and far too close to home. She _had_ abandoned him to his fate, stopped looking when she should never, never have stopped until she had found him. It was all her fault that he was gone, and her fault that she would never see him again. Nothing she did would ever change that.

Eventually she became aware of the arms about her, the warmth wrapped around her and she pulled back to see Alistair there. Her brother Warden backed away slightly, enough to give her a little room.

"Bad dreams, huh?" he asked sympathetically, though he spoke as if he already knew the answer.

Kara wrapped her arms about herself. "It seemed so real…"

"You dreamed of the archdemon?" he asked. She nodded in reply. "Well, it is real, sort of." He paused, considering his words. "Part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was, hearing them. It starts some time after the Joining. It's supposed to be worse who Join during a Blight, I'm sorry to say. I know it took longer for my nightmares to really start." Kara digested that for a moment.

"It takes a bit, but eventually most Wardens learn to block the dreams out," Alistair continued. "Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

"I could…feel it," Kara said slowly. "Not an understanding in words, but all the same…"

Alistair nodded. "Anyways, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary for me at first too."

Kara exhaled slowly, willing the last vestiges of dream (that's all that it was, she reminded herself, a dream and nothing more) to dissipate. "Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it."

Alistair smiled as he rose to return to his seat by the fire. "That's what I'm here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners."

When he had settled himself again, Kara laid back and willed herself to shut her eyes. She could ill afford to lose any sleep, not with the darkspawn about. Still she found herself reluctant to sleep again, knowing what dreams might await her on the other side of the Veil. She attempted instead to wrap herself in the happy memories, hoping that they might have the power to chase away the archdemon's darkness, knowing it was the only weapon she had now that Tamlen was gone.

-~0~-

Merrill shut the book in her lap, much to the children's groans of dismay.

"I told you only one story, did I not?" she said, trying to put a stern tone on her words.

"But Keeper!" the outcry came, as the children begged for more.

"No 'but Keeper's," Merrill chided. She turned her head as one of the elven women approached. "Ah, come to gather the children to their beds, lethallan?"

"Yes Keeper," she replied. Turning to the children, she said, "Your parents are searching for you, da'len. You can ask for more stories tomorrow night."

"Can we, Keeper? Have more stories tomorrow?" one small girl asked.

"Of course, da'len," Merrill replied. With that, they shooed the children off to their respective camps for the night.

The woman smiled. "I hope the children weren't too much bother, Keeper," she said.

"Not at all," Merrill replied, returning the smile. "It is always a joy to have them here, and so eager to hear tales of their hero."

"We will bid you good night then, Keeper," she said, gathering her own children to leave.

"Good night, Amethyne dear," Merrill said fondly as she rose to head to bed herself.


	10. Roses Never Fade

_A/N The ladies will likely recognize that many of the dialog lines are pulled directly from the game, so that's Bioware's credit there! I realize that I did a big jump over game events for this chapter - I didn't feel a need to write them directly, but if there's enough demand for it, I might be able to be convinced to do it...that is the benefit of the tales format, is it not?_

_Title for the chapter comes from a great Journey song! Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing - spread the Dalish love!  
_

"M'lady Keeper?"

A shy, diffident voice stopped Merrill before she could leave. She looked down to find the speaker. "Yes, Lenaire?"

Lenaire was different from the other children in the camp, for one obvious reason. She was human, the young daughter of Queen Tamara of Ferelden, here to foster relations with the Dalish people. Not that many in the clans _wanted_ her there, a human in the midst of the Elvhenan, but Merrill had accepted the Queen's request gladly. It was one more step to ensuring the continuation of the Dalish nation. If only she could convince the rest of her people to see. Merrill hoped that Lenaire's presence amongst the clans at the Arlathvhen would help move them in that direction. Though she wasn't naïve – the young princess was within eyesight of several loyal Mahariel hunters at all times.

Tonight, she was in the company of an elven boy about her own age, Merrill's own grandson, Daron. Of course it would be him. It was only natural, since her own family was one that she trusted implicitly to keep Lenaire safe. The children were bound to spend much time with each other and become close. Still, it was different when it was one's own flesh and blood…but that was not the current matter. Nothing might come of it in the end.

Lenaire traded glances with Daron, then held out her hands. Merrill studied the ornate wooden box she held and the object within it with interest. "I had wondered what might have happened to this." The Keeper reached out a hand to brush fingers against vibrant petals, still soft as the day it was picked though that had been decades before.

The girl looked up at her. "Mother gave me this before I left. Will you tell me the story, Keeper? About my grandfather and Karaleyna and this rose? She said I should ask."

Merrill looked over to where her daughter-by-bond still waited. "Go ahead, Amethyne. I'll walk her home myself, when the tale is done."

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper." Amethyne looked over to her son, still standing at the human girl's side, and sighed at his pleading facial expression. "Stay and make sure Lenaire arrives home safely, Daron," she said indulgently, and the boy nodded his agreement eagerly.

"Come then, children," Merrill said, retaking her seat by the fire as her daughter-by-bond disappeared into the darkness. She opened the book in her lap as the children settled before her and began to read again.

-~0~-

Alistair was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, really. The last several days had been filled with nothing but fighting and running and more fighting, and none of it darkspawn even. He almost wished that his fellow Warden had taken Bann Teagan's offer to stay at the castle for the night, but he could hardly blame her for refusing. Not only did it still stink of death, and the walking dead, but there were all those walls about and he didn't miss how uncomfortable his Dalish companion was surrounded by stone. There might even have been some consideration for him there – a thought that he too might be uneasy in the childhood home that had cast him out because of his royal bastard blood. Though that, in particular, had not bothered her at all surprisingly.

And then there were all the humans. In some ways it was ironic that being surrounded by ordinary men and women seemed to intimidate Kara more than darkspawn or walking skeletons or abominations, but then those were straightforward to deal with. No one minded if you killed a few dozen corpses or stuck your blade into a pride demon. He didn't know how she handled the disdain and the snide comments and the deliberate dismissal of her existence at the hands of most of the humans they met. At least people couldn't tell he was a bastard just by looking at him. At least, not everyone could.

They saw "elf" and immediately looked to him, or to Leliana or Morrigan, or at times even to Sten and overlooked her entirely. Or they stared and treated her like she should belong in a menagerie. He'd thrown leadership of the group to the Dalish Warden at first out of real reluctance to lead. Now he promoted it in part because it just wasn't _fair_ that everyone failed to see her humanity…or whatever you'd call it, simply because she wasn't human.

Kara was doing an incredible job at leading their ragtag band, given what a mess the situation was. At her hands they had liberated Redcliffe from a demon and its forces and saved the mages from annihilation. They had preserved Eamon's entire family and earned a chance to save the arl himself. They had gained the first of their allies against the Blight, and it was all thanks to her. All in the span of just a few days.

Alistair was glad it hadn't been him in charge. Fighting alongside Teagan and the militia had been an easy enough choice, but Connor? Even knowing that the surest resolution was to kill the boy, he'd never have had the strength to climb the stairs, or put the blade to Connor's throat. And then when Isolde had come to beg for her son's life…he'd never have had the strength to take the chance that the Circle mages would help, could help in time. He'd seen steel in Kara's eyes then that had not left in the run to the tower, or in the fight with the blood mages and demons, not until that mage Jowan had come out of the Fade and announced his victory over the demon possessing Connor, much to First Enchanter Irving's surprise.

She had, against all odds, saved everyone. She had saved the family that still, despite everything, felt something like his family. He owed her something for that.

He looked over to where she sat, looking thoroughly drained and entirely uninterested in the rations in her hand. They had walked half the day before finally making camp here, and even then she had not stopped, taking up bow and quiver and going out to hunt, alone except for her mabari. That was usually Morrigan's job, being her hunting partner. Alistair supposed they bonded or something during that time, frightening thought though that was, since Kara got along with the witch much better than he did. Tonight though, Morrigan had her nose buried in some book that Kara had found in the mages' Tower and had not spared a glance for the Dalish hunter when she had left, or when she had returned empty-handed some time later.

They'd all fallen into their own routines in the weeks they had travelled together. On an ordinary night he and his fellow Warden might have spent the evening deciphering her father's book by the light of the fire, but he doubted she had the energy for that tonight. He racked his brain to come up with something appropriate to express his gratitude, because "thank you" simply wasn't enough to say how thankful he really was.

An idea struck him suddenly and Alistair reached for his pack. It was a little sappy, maybe, but he hoped she would appreciate it. And not think it was horrifically inappropriate or anything. But he'd seen the sparkle of appreciation in her eyes when Teagan had complimented her (flirted even, he had to admit wryly) and how it had made her smile to be treated so gallantly, so how could she not?

Alistair cleared his throat a little as he approached, not wanting to startle her by sneaking up on her. She looked up at him wearily. "Alistair? Do you need something?" He felt a twinge of guilt – they were always asking her to do things for them, weren't they?

"I…no. It's just…now that we're back at camp, I wanted to talk about what happened. At Redcliffe." He fought the urge to shuffle his feet – there was no reason to feel embarrassed about doing something nice!

She managed to look even more exhausted at the mere mention of the place. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to thank you," he said reassuringly. "You went out of your way to save the arl's family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to." Easier was an understatement – it had been a monumental task, and one that she had accomplished seemingly by sheer determination alone.

"There's just been so much death and destruction already," he sighed as he dropped down to sit next to her. "It…well, it makes me feel good that we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the arl that much."

She looked as though she wanted to say something about that, about owing the arl, perhaps. Things seemed to have been different for orphans in her clan – the entire clan joining together to care for those who had lost their parents like she had. Despite the fact that they had similar backgrounds, they had grown up in entirely different ways. In the end, though, all she said was "I'm glad too."

"And I, well…" Why was he so nervous all of the sudden? It was just a simple gift, to say thank you. He held out his hand. "Here, do you know what this is?"

His Dalish companion looked at him curiously. "A flower?"

"It's a rose," he affirmed. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'" Lothering had been such a dark place, full of refugees seeking to escape the darkspawn horde. And now all of those refugees were probably gone, and the best hope for defeating the Blight was here, in front of him.

"I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't," he continued. "The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

Kara reached out to brush her fingers against the soft velvety petals. "It's lovely," she said. "What will you do with it?"

"I thought that I might…give it to you, actually." Alistair ran his free hand through his hair. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you." He hadn't planned on the admission, but after saying it, he realized that nothing could be truer. She was a bright spot amidst the darkness of the Blight, even though she was tainted herself. This woman was his hope that they could actually win against the archdemon.

She looked surprised as she took the rose from him, as though she didn't know how to react to such an offer. "Ma serannas," she faltered. "Thank you. I don't know what else to say."

"I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it?" Alistair said with an awkward little laugh. "I just thought…here I am, doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had so little of the good experience of being a Grey Wardens since your Joining." Just the opposite, in fact. Only scorn and disdain for the poor judgment to not be born human, and hatred for having the audacity to join an order that was their only hope against the darkspawn. "It's all been death and fighting and tragedy.

"I just thought maybe I could say something," he finished. "Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the dark. Literally – her elven eyes picking up the glow from the firelight and reflecting it back cat-like. Once, that had made him uncomfortable, had been alien and unfamiliar. Alistair found it no longer bothered him in the least, nor did the tattoos or the hunting leathers or the way she could materialize out of nowhere without a sound and disappear again just as silently. It was all just Kara, his sister Grey Warden who was strong and confident and so very capable.

Concern flashed momentarily across her face. He was getting better at reading her emotions past the tattoos. "We're not…" She paused, searching for a word. "Married now, are we?"

The question startled a bark of laughter out of him before he could control himself. It was a perfectly logical question – maybe it _did_ mean something like that to the Dalish. He winked and turned it into a joke instead. "You won't land me that easily, woman!" he teased. "I know I'm quite the prize, after all, no need to start crying on me or anything." Kara relaxed immediately and smiled in return.

"I guess it was, uh, just a stupid impulse," Alistair said sheepishly. "I don't know, was it the wrong one?"

Kara ran her fingers gently over the petals of her rose and lifted it to her face to smell its perfume, eyes closed in pleasure. "No, it's lovely, thank you."

"Good, I'm glad you liked it," he said warmly. She looked so much happier now, it had been worth any amount of awkwardness for that.

"Look, why don't you go ahead and get some sleep?" he suggested. "I'll take your watch."

Now she looked startled. "There's no need for that…"

"I insist," he said firmly. It was such a little thing he could do for her in thanks.

She studied him for just a moment, then nodded. "Ma serranas again then, Alistair." She stood to rise then, to make her way to her tent for some much needed and much deserved rest. After a few steps, she turned to look at him again. "Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, Kara," he replied with a warm smile. "Sweet dreams."

-~0~-

"Keeper?"

"Yes, Daron?" Merrill looked over to her grandson, who had a puzzled expression on his face.

"Lenaire says that this is the same rose that the king gave to Karaleyna?" he asked.

"So the stories say," Merrill affirmed.

"But how is that possible, Keeper?" Lenaire said, brow furrowed in confusion. "That was many years ago. Ordinary roses wilt."

"That they do, da'len," Merrill said. "I asked Karaleyna that once, long ago. She told me that she didn't know, but that another of her companions spoke of a rose as well, the bard Leliana. According to her, the god the humans call 'the Maker' spoke to her through a mystical rose that bloomed from a dead bush. It was Karaleyna's thought that they might be one and the same."

"Does that mean that the Maker is real, like the Creators?" Daron asked.

"I do not know, da'len. There are many things in the Beyond that we do not understand. Perhaps he is real. Perhaps is one of the Forgotten Ones, or another of the gods whose name was lost to us," Merrill replied.

Lenaire regarded the box in her lap with no small amount of awe. "What should I do with this, Keeper? Why did my mother give this to me?"

"Keep it, da'len," Merrill told her. "And cherish it. It is a memento of the Hero of Ferelden. Let it remind you of the bond between our peoples."

The human girl nodded at that. "Thank you for the story, Keeper."

Merrill smiled. "You are most welcome, da'len."


	11. Dances in the Woods Part I

_A/N Lanaya's prayer isn't my own! Thanks to everyone who is reading and especially for my reviewers, you guys are awesome!_

Merrill watched her clan's human guest as she sat before the fire, looking thoughtful. "Is there something else you wanted to ask, da'len?"

Lenaire traded glances with Daron again, and the elven boy nodded supportively. "Keeper, the Dalish and humans are so different…how did a Dalish woman fall in love with the king?" The question was larger than just that, Merrill knew, but she chose to answer only what was asked.

"He was not the king at the time, da'len," she reminded the girl. "But even so, you are correct, he was human and she Dalish. We may be different, but at the core, my people and yours are not so dissimilar. We breathe, we feel, we love – sometimes even each other."

She paused, considering just how to explain to the two children a concept that could forever alter two lands and ensure the Dalish future for some time to come. "It did not happen all at once, of course. They fought the Blight for many months before they even began to realize feelings towards each other. I do not think they would have said any one thing caused them to fall in love. They were very similar, after all, and the only members of their order remaining.

"It seems that love often blooms in adversity, perhaps to help us endure, and those were indeed dark times. So while it is not a common thing for those of our people it was, perhaps, only natural that _they_ would come together, being so close for so long with the same desperate goal.

"There were many things they had to overcome, most especially the hatred and mistrust that has existed between our peoples for centuries, things that affected them even though they were friends and comrades already. And then there were their own fears and doubts…but I should stop talking and simply tell you the story, shouldn't I?"

-~0~-

Alistair stood off to the side with the rest of their companions as his fellow Grey Warden spoke quietly in the Dalish tongue to the woman who called herself Keeper's first explaining, he assumed, what had happened in the forest and in the elven ruins. He supposed the woman, Lanaya if he remembered properly, was clan leader in her own right now, since Zathrian had sacrificed himself to end the werewolf curse.

The older elven woman was nodding sadly. She reached out to place an arm on the Dalish Warden's shoulder and said something in a reassuring tone.

"What is it you think she is saying to her, hmm?" purred a voice over his shoulder. Zevran. Somehow the elf could take the most innocent things and twist them into something…_dirty_. Even just hearing his voice grated on Alistair's nerves. He still had no idea what had possessed Kara to spare the elf's life after he tried to assassinate them but it was one of the few times that Alistair had openly disagreed with her plan of action. He only hoped it wouldn't come back to haunt them later.

Alistair decided to ignore Zevran in favor of watching Kara as she continued to converse with the clan leader. Some of the tension in her bearing had eased – he supposed that Lanaya had taken the news as well as it could be taken, given that her beloved leader had been discovered as the root cause behind the werewolf curse and had fueled it for centuries with his hatred. He knew the knowledge weighed heavily on Kara, though she had spoken little of it since they had departed the ruins. He'd seen it in the darkness in her eyes and the confusion he saw there though she had declined to talk about it, to him or anyone else.

Lanaya pitched her voice louder and switched to the King's tongue, addressing all the companions now. "Karaleyna has told me all that happened. Ma serranas, thank you, all of you, for helping to end the curse that plagued my people." She looked back to Kara, though she continued to speak in the King's tongue for all of them. "We would be most pleased if you stayed, for the rituals for the dead tonight and for Cammen and Gheyna's bonding. You are, after all, the reason for their union."

He could see how much she wanted to say yes, he knew how foreign and out of place she felt in the human lands. And he could equally see that she was going to say no, that duty to defeating the Blight would override that desire. Alistair looked around, at the companions who stood around him. They were all tired, all nursing cuts and strains and sprains from the battles against the werewolves. Wynne especially looked worn after keeping them all in shape through the past fights. Morrigan, too, was still recovering from the werewolf bite. She was supposedly cured of the curse now, not that he could see any improvement in her temper. But maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing for them, all of them, to rest for just a few days.

"I am sorry, I do not think we can stay…" Kara was saying, shaking her head regretfully.

"Would it be so bad?" Kara turned to look at him in surprise at his interruption. "I mean, I don't think that the archdemon is going to show up in the next few days, and we could all use a break. What better place than here?" Alistair continued. He drew closer and lowered his voice confidentially. "Wynne especially could use some rest, don't you think?"

Elven eyes flicked towards Wynne, registered the droop in the elderly mage's posture and the exhaustion written there. As he hoped, concern blossomed in her grey eyes over their elder companion's well-being and for the rest of their group, more concern than she ever showed for herself.

Kara looked back to Lanaya. "If Alistair does not disapprove, perhaps a few days would do us all good."

The other elven woman nodded decisively, pleased. "It is settled then. There is time for all of you to clean up and rest before evening – I will arrange for it."

-~0~-

This was home, or as close to home as she had been in many months. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that she was back in her own clan camp, surrounded by beloved faces. The smell of Sylaise's fragrant moss burning in the fire, accustomed spices flavoring the meat and roots for dinner, the sounds of the Dalish tongue all around her, it was all right.

Opening her eyes cracked the illusion though. The faces were almost correct – delicately boned elven faces with mirrored eyes and pointed ears like her own, decorated with vallaslin like those that she knew. But beyond that, it was different, and the familiar faces were those of her companions – humans, qunari, and the singular elf that she traveled with but whose face carried markings other than those of the Creators upon it.

Kara looked for them now, wandering about the camp before the funeral rites began. Wynne was with Lanaya, comparing healing herbs, it seemed. Zevran was trying to charm an elven maiden or two, though Kara doubted that he would have any luck with insular Dalish women. Leliana sat with Hahren Sarel, who had unbent long enough to trade tales with the human bard. Anari romped merrily with some of the clan children, while Sten stood off to the side, impassive as always. Morrigan was nowhere to be found, but that was not in the least bit unusual, though Kara still remained concerned for the witch's well-being. And Alistair…

She ran into her brother Warden coming around an aravel, startling them both. His expression flashed from surprise to appreciation in a moment. "You, ah, look nice," he stammered. "I mean, what you're wearing."

"This?" she said, looking puzzled down at the plain skirt and shirt she wore. "The women of the clan have given me some of their things, since I lost my own at Ostagar. It is nothing special." He still flinched when she named the place, though his expression was not as pained as it had been months before, when the wound was fresh. Alistair was healing from those wounds, slowly but surely as time passed.

His own clothing fit looser on him, she could see that without the usual armor masking the slack. The past few months had been much hard work for all of them, and only what food she could hunt or they could purchase – fine enough for a Dalish used to a spare life, but it bled the excess flesh from them all, even when they had lived no easy life in the past.

"I just mean to say that I've never seen you in anything other than hunting leathers," Alistair was saying. "It suits you."

"Thank you, Alistair," she said with a smile. "This is not practical on the hunt, but it is nice to have something other than leather to wear! It's only a shame that none of the hunters' wear will fit you."

He laughed at that. "I think I'd look a little ridiculous in those robes, to be honest. What about you?" he asked, shifting the subject. "It must be nice, being back with your people."

She gave him a little shrug in reply. Had he somehow known what she was thinking? "It is…strange. Many things are the same, and yet I no longer feel like I belong, quite. Even were this _my_ clan…it is still different."

"Hmm, yes, I know what you mean," he said. "Being back in Redcliffe, there were lots of memories, some fond ones even. But it'll never be home again, not now."

She nodded thoughtfully. "That is it, exactly. There is much here that I love and that I miss, but I am a Grey Warden now. Much as I wish, I cannot go back."

Alistair looked relieved. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. Not about not belonging or anything," he corrected himself. "It's just….I admit I was afraid that you'd want to stay here."

"Stay?" she repeated, surprised. "Why would I stay?"

"It's just that…all of this," he said, waving a hand to indicate their surroundings. "I thought maybe you would want to just stay here, instead of going back to all the darkness out there. I don't think I'd blame you at all."

Kara stepped closer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "I am a Grey Warden now, Alistair," she repeated. "Before anything else, I will finish this fight by your side."

A quiet, nervous cough interrupted them before Alistair could reply. "Ir abelas, lethallan," a young elven man interjected uneasily. "The Keeper says it is almost time to begin, should you care to join us."

"Ma serannas, lethallin," Kara replied, turning towards him. "Tell the Keeper we shall be there shortly."

"Ma nuvenin," the young man responded with a slight bow, his polite reply marred only by a curious glance at Alistair, before he left to gather up others.

"Shall we?" Kara asked her brother Warden, who motioned for her to lead the way.

"So what exactly is happening tonight?" he asked as they walked.

"The clan will bury their dead, now that there should be no others to follow them," Kara explained. "They will sing songs for them and of them, to keep their memory alive and to call the Creators down to guide them home to the Beyond, even though it has been long since they answered us."

Alistair mused on that for a moment. "If they don't answer, why do you keep calling?"

"Is it any different from your Chantry? Are they not also calling to an absent god, hoping that one day he will hear and return?" she rejoined.

He chuckled at that a bit. "True enough, true enough. It's a common trend with those god types, it seems." They were getting nearer to Hahren Sarel's fire now, where the entire clan was gathering. "So this ritual tonight, this is what you did for Duncan and the others, right?"

"In its fullest form, yes," she replied. "What I did paled in comparison, but I had none of the proper elements available to me." They had come to the edge of the gathered clan, and Lanaya rose to greet them.

"Andaran atishan, lethallin," the Keeper said, welcoming them to the circle. She motioned for Kara and Alistair to join their companions as she continued speaking. "This is a very unusual situation, for the Dalish to allow anyone outside our people to see such a ritual, but you have been of great aid to us in our time of need, asking for nothing but that which was already your due. Tonight, then, we welcome you all as friend, be you of the elvhenan or not. In your honor, we will use your King's tongue where we can, so that you may know what it is to be a part of the Dalish."

Lanaya turned to face her clan, gathered around her. "Come, let us pray to the Creators, lethallin," she invoked. "All-Father, may you forgive our part in this tragedy. Would our sons and daughters have died if not for our pride? Falon'din, Friend of the Dead, may you guide our sons and daughters safely into the Beyond. And most of all, He Who Hunts Alone, the Dread Wolf. He will come for us in the end, but today he turned a blind eye, and for that, we are thankful."

She paused here, and at the cue, the clan spoke aloud as one, Kara joining them as they recited the familiar refrain. "For we are the Dalish, the Keepers of the Lost Lore, the Walkers of the Lonely Path, and never again shall we submit." All remained quiet as the bodies were laid to rest in the earth, so many hunters who had lost their lives to Zathrian's curse, and as the dead were wrapped in the earth's embrace and the fragile saplings planted above, the clan began to sing.

"In Uthenera" the song was called, from the days when the elves did not die but merely slept, a willing departure from the world to make way for newer generations. No elf lived long enough for _uthenara_, the waking sleep, now, especially not in such times when death stole them all way too soon.

They had sung the dirge far too often of late, this clan and her own, and it never ceased to bring an ache to her heart with each loss the clans sustained. Too many young hunters and artisans, with all the lore and knowledge and life that went with them and with every loss the clans were lessened. _Uthenara _was supposed to have been a time for rejoicing, a time to remember and give thanks for the life that had gone before, but there was nothing but sorrow here.

Another voice had joined the refrain, one familiar from evenings spent camped close together on the road, and Kara turned in surprise to find Leliana joined in song with the clan. Her pronunciation was occasionally off, but she was true in lyric and tone. Kara wondered how it was that a human woman, even a bard, raised amongst humans had come to know a Dalish song and resolved to ask her of it at the next opportunity. For now, it was enough to treasure the surprising solidarity, and hope for the day that the two peoples could one day all be so close.

The solemn song continued for several rounds as the bodies were given to land, falling silent as the last of the earth fell. The stories would begin soon, told by family and clanmates so that the fallen would not be forgotten, Kara knew. She did not expect the voice that called out for her.

"Grey Warden, will you tell us of Zathrian's end?"

She froze, not sure how to answer. She had given Lanaya the pure unadulterated truth – as Keeper it was Lanaya's responsibility to know so that the lessons learned from Zathrian's fall could be shared with the generations to come. And it was Lanaya's right to tell her clan the truth of how their Keeper had lived and died. Kara shot a glance to the other elven woman, and received a nod in reply, which was a vague enough answer.

She pondered the answer for a few moments longer, knowing that she would have to give it soon. "Keeper Zathrian was a good man, though he was far from perfect," she said finally. "At his end, Zathrian acknowledged his misdeeds and paid for them, and in doing so, he acted bravely, and for the good of his clan. He died a hero, and the clan should be proud of his end."

She ignored the soft snort of disbelief to her side and focused instead on the murmur of appreciation from the clan. It was all they needed to know for now; Lanaya could sort out the entire truth for them later. In all honesty it still ate at her, that a _Keeper_ would cling so to vengeance and hatred that he would harm his entire clan in his pursuit of justice that was no longer justice.

It was the weakness of her people, she thought sadly, to cling to past wrongs beyond all reason and to lash out at others who were not at fault at all. It horrified her, this illogical pursuit of vengeance when there was so much evidence that the world was not the way that jaded eyes wanted to believe it was. There was so much good where others wanted to see only evil.

The humans were a prime example – she would trust Alistair with her life and more, knowing that he never saw her as less than his equal in all things. There were more than enough humans who saw elves as chattel, she knew it from her own experience. But they were not all that way, and the good…it was worth fighting for, worth caring about, worth protecting.

Zathrian, she hoped, had learned at the end that vengeance could destroy that which one was trying to avenge. And she hoped that it was a lesson that his clan would take to heart, to change their world so they could change the world they lived in. It was the only way that they could live in peace, that the Dalish could thrive, that they could have any hope of reaching their former glory.

Kara stayed in the circle, half-listening to the tales as she mulled over her own thoughts until she found herself falling asleep where she sat. With the whole clan present, one attendee more or less was not important, and Lanaya had made it clear that their party was not expected to keep vigil all night, not after the battles with the werewolves and forest denizens. With that in mind, she rose wearily and made her way towards the aravels set aside for their use.

"Grey Warden." She had fully expected her companions to leave with her, but there was something in Sten's voice that caused her to motion the rest on as she paused to look at him expectantly.

"What purpose do such lies serve?" There was challenge in his voice, and the hint of impatience that found its way in ever more often of late.

"Lies?" she repeated. "I told no lies to the clan."

"You speak of this Zathrian as though his actions did not weaken the people he claimed to protect," the qunari warrior replied. "It does not benefit the elves to believe that he did otherwise. It is, in fact, the opposite."

"It is not so simple, Sten," she tried to explain.

"Perhaps you make things far too difficult," Sten retorted. "If the Dalish are too weak to hear the truth of their leader, how will they be strong enough to fight against the darkspawn?"

"The Dalish are strong in ways that you do not understand, Sten." She tried hard to keep the weariness out of her voice, though she was dubious of her success. "When we call, they will answer, and you will see why the shemlen fear Dalish arrows."

Sten watched her for a moment longer, looking unconvinced. "Parshaara. We go nowhere with this." With that, the tall qunari turned on his heel and departed for the men's aravel. Kara waited several long moments before traveling in his wake to where the women were staying.

Alistair was waiting for her there. "I heard what Sten was saying," he said simply.

"It is not important, Alistair," Kara answered, trying to deflect whatever he had intended to say next. She was far too tired to deal with whatever it was.

"I just…I just wanted to say that I think you did the right thing, telling them what you did," Alistair continued. "What Zathrian did…it took courage to end the curse after so many years, at the cost of his own life. It was the right thing to do, and I think he saw that, in the end."

"Anyways," he said, moving away from the aravel and back towards his own, "I just wanted to say something, that the rest of us trust your decisions and your lead, no matter what someone like Sten says."

It surprised her, a little, how much the simple statement of faith warmed her. Alistair always complained about not knowing what to do and about always feeling awkward when he did do something, but his instincts were often on target. There was much good in the humans indeed, exemplified in this man though she doubted he knew it.

"I would not be able to do this without you, Alistair," she told him with a warm smile.

"Well, that's what I'm here for!" Her fellow Warden played it off as a joke, but she could see he was pleased and just a little embarrassed as he left for his aravel and his bed. She made her way to her own rest with refreshed hope that their two peoples would one day exist peacefully together after all.


	12. Dances in the Woods Part II

_A/N So sorry for the delays guys! Work is picking up and I had a bad run with migraines that just kill my creativity, but I've got new meds. Yay new meds! Hoping that my writing pace picks up, but thank you all so much for being patient, and especially for reading!_

This morning's dance was under a master's close scrutiny, slow to praise, quick with criticism.

"Your blows require more force, da'len. No foe will fall to a strike like that."

"You must find the rhythm, feel it within, let it guide your steps."

Her focus narrowed, trying to match her steps to the beat of the drum. No sooner had she found the rhythm than the tempo changed, the abrupt change causing her feet to tangle beneath her, losing the form entirely and only barely avoiding an embarrassing tumble across the practice floor. Kara blew out a frustrated breath and slipped her blades back in their sheaths before rising from her knees to brush the dirt from her leggings.

Her mentor's voice spoke from behind again. "You are trying too hard, da'len." She turned to face Master Varathorn, seated on one side of the field. "Do not listen to the drums – feel them. Sarel's drums will not be on the field of battle with you. They represent the rhythm of combat, the ebb and flow of those around you. It is never constant, and you will fail if you cannot adapt to its changes.

"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Do not hear the beat, feel it within. You have been in battle, you have been serenaded with its song, even if you were not aware at the time."

She did as he bade, shutting her eyes as the low sounds of Sarel's drums set a slow pace again. Master Varathorn's voice sounded in counter-point to the drums' beat. "The drum is your own heart's pulse, da'len. Shut out the world, feel only this. The song of battle is a cacophony, but at its core beats a heart rhythm. Find that, be one with the conflict around you, and you will not miss a strike or a parry." Kara felt the drums' beat within her chest, timed her breathing to its pulse.

"Draw your weapons, da'len," the master's voice commanded, and she moved to obey, eyes still closed to the world around her. "Now _dance_."

It was easier this time, far more natural than trying to find the cadence on her own. Instinct guided her, adjusting her own pace as the drums sped or slowed, and she found that her mind could wander just a bit as she moved through the familiar steps. It had been very kind of Master Varathorn to share what he knew of the old arts with her, and in some ways, quite ironic.

It was this very thing she should have been doing that fateful morning that seemed so long ago – traveling here to speak with Master Varathorn while the clans were near one another. Instead she had chosen the hunt with Tamlen, disgraced again for fighting her battles. It had seemed only fitting that she share his punishment, since she deserved it as much as he, which was to say not really at all.

Now she looked back and wondered how it might have been different had Tamlen gone on his hunt and she to Master Varathorn as planned. Would Tamlen have tried to explore the caves alone, to still find the mirror? Would he have been so foolhardy without her by his side, or would he have gone on anyways and disappeared, his fate never known to his clan? Would Duncan have come to claim her without her tainted blood to make his offer irrefutable? And had all that come to pass, would another have survived in her place at the Joining, or would Alistair be fighting alone against the Blight now?

But for Tamlen's loss, maybe it was better this way. Perhaps even despite Tamlen's loss. She slowed as the drumbeat did, even as her momentum in fighting the Blight did, and sighed. The Creators would guide where they will, Keeper Marethari would have told her. Possibly she just needed to have a little more faith in the Creators' will.

"Very good, da'len. Much better." Master Varathorn's voice intruded on her thoughts. "Come, take your rest with us. Your father was known to me, though not as well as I would have liked. I would come to know his daughter instead, if I may." Kara obediently made her way over to where the two elders sat, alone on their side of the clearing, and took a comfortable seat kneeling before them.

"Your father would be very proud of you, da'len. You fight well for one with no master of the arts to call your own," the master woodsmith told her.

"Ma serranas, Master," she replied, not certain how she should feel about the praise. Her father was an unknown entity, having died well before her birth. She knew that the clan had loved their former keeper, enough to take in and cherish his only child though her mother was from another clan. Beyond that, though, nothing. The clan rarely spoke of him, or her mother, content in this instance to leave the past in the past.

It was a strange practice, to her mind, for a people whose lives were spent in the pursuit of reconstructing what was lost to time. Learn what you could from the past, and when there was nothing to be learned, leave it behind. In many ways, the unsaid mantra made her people strong, gave them direction and purpose in a world that feared and hated them. In this case, however, it left her feeling somewhat empty, caught in the futility of wanting to make proud a man she knew nothing about, could know nothing about. Master Varathorn could say the words as often as he liked, but she no way of knowing the truth behind them.

Rather than dwell on it further, she changed the subject. "How is it that you came to learn the arts, Master Varathorn? It is not common for one to be both craftmaster and master of the swordarts, is it?"

The elder laughed. "I am hardly a master of either, though I claim my share of our people's knowledge of crafting with wood and steel. But I learned a little of the sword arts from my mother. She believed a craftsman should know the use of what he made.

"Once, our people had the time to be both master craftsmen and master fighters," he sighed. "But it is younglings like you who will lead us to a future where it might be so again." Master Varathorn looked across the field and Kara followed his gaze to find Alistair standing slightly apart from the elves who had gathered to watch the morning's practice session. "A future where we can dwell peacefully with the shems and recover what was lost to us."

He turned to face the elven Warden again. "You are close, these shemlen and you?"

"We are united in purpose, at least," she answered, unwilling to say more and uncertain how to explain the complex relationships in their little band.

"And in such union is lasting friendship formed," the master finished, nodding in satisfaction. "You have done a remarkable thing, bringing to yourself shemlen, our brethren from the city, and even one of the like-minded people. Though it is perhaps a peculiar one, I think it is good for us all that you have formed such a clan for yourself."

Kara mulled over that for a moment, then shook her head. "The others are companions, friends even, but only Alistair is like clan."

Beside them, Hahren Sarel scoffed. "You speak of them as if they were like us. Claiming shems as clan? Nothing good can come from it."

"That is not what my father taught as keeper, hahren," Kara countered mildly. "Nor what Keeper Lanaya believes. We cannot live in peace unless we can reach an understanding with the humans. Beyond that, there is more to becoming a Grey Warden than you know. Alistair and I are united by that, even as it separates us from those around us. He is as much my clan as that which I was born to."

Hahren Sarel looked unconvinced but held his tongue, though Master Varathorn favored her with a more thoughtful glance. The craftsmith stood abruptly, gathering a pair of swords as he rose.

"Come then, da'len. We have talked enough – it is time to show me what you have learned." He walked out onto the practice field and she followed willingly, tired of talking herself.

-~0~-

"Like what you see?" Alistair angled his head to glare at Zevran, who somehow managed to smirk and look innocent at the same time.

"What do you want, Zevran?" he asked grumpily, turning to watch his fellow Warden's skirmish with the clan elder.

"Me? I am simply here to enjoy the view. There are many lovely sights to be seen in these woods, wouldn't you agree?" Alistair didn't believe the act for a minute. The assassin was near Kara far too often for his liking, always watching her and trying to curry her favor and Alistair didn't like it one bit.

He turned to face the elf squarely and lowered his voice. "What are your intentions towards her, anyways?"

The innocent look on Zevran's face never budged for a second. "Her? Are we talking about somebody in particular, Alistair?"

"Don't dodge the question, Zevran. You know exactly who I'm talking about," he growled.

The infuriating elf laughed in his face. "Such hostility, Alistair! Is this brotherly concern I am detecting?" The assassin's expression turned sly. "Or is it something else? Jealousy, perhaps?"

"What? I'm not jealous! Why would I be jealous?" Alistair was momentarily nonplussed before he glared at Zevran again. "I'm just asking what your intentions are. You did try to kill us all, remember?"

"And now I owe her a blood debt, as she has spared my life." The normally jovial elf grew serious for a moment. "Whatever my…intentions might be, you can be assured that our lovely Warden will come to no harm at my hands. I do not think I could even if I tried," he added with a wink before adopting that shrewd expression again. "But perhaps it is not my intentions you should be examining, hmm?"

"What are you trying to suggest?" he stammered, but the elf was already gone, chuckling to himself about something that Alistair simply did not understand. Mystified, he looked back to the field, where it looked like the skirmish was moving towards its end.

To his disbelief another voice sounded next to him. "You watch her very intently."

This time he found a Dalish woman, a girl whose face lacked the intricate tattoos that marked the adults' faces. Red-haired and pretty, he thought he remembered Kara talking to her before…Gheyna was her name. The girl who was getting married in a few days.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"The way you watch her," the girl said, tilting her head a bit as she studied him. "As if you wish you were out there instead of Master Varathorn."

"Instead of…?" he trailed off, thinking about it. It was true that he and his fellow Warden often sparred together and that it was quite enjoyable. And it was also true that he rather missed their little routines from the road – sparring in the mornings and reading lessons at the end of the day, though those were quickly becoming reading _sessions_ as Kara's proficiency rapidly improved. It was nice, and as peaceful as anything could be with a Blight upon Ferelden.

Gheyna was still studying him. "The way you look at her, it is like the way Cammen looks at me, when he thinks I don't see."

"I…what?" She wasn't really implying what it sounded like she was implying, was she? Cammen was the fellow that Gheyna was going to marry, bond with, the Dalish called it. And she thought he looked at _Kara_ like that? The idea was absolutely absurd, of course. Impossible even. Kara was his friend, his sister Warden!

She was his partner…but that word brought up all sorts of other imagery. It wasn't as if he had never thought of a life with someone, but then it was as something he could never experience, not as a templar in the Chantry. It wasn't _forbidden_ exactly but it was certainly frowned upon and none of the templars he had known were married. He _had_ dared to dream, some days; moreso when Duncan had conscripted him but even then his contact with the other sex had been extremely limited, and it wasn't as if he had had the time to pursue anyone anyways.

Of course it would figure then that he, being the bumbling idiot that he was, would start falling for the first woman that he spent any time around. And if he were going to be really, truly honest with himself that might be what was happening. That is if that was what you called thinking about a person all the time, and finding yourself watching her even when you didn't realize it yourself, though apparently everyone else did.

But then again…then again, it wasn't _every_ woman who made him act like a fool. If he had just wanted graceful and kind, there was Leliana. He liked the bard well enough, but not like that. And if it was simply exotic and intelligent he wanted there was Morrigan, and outright hatred wasn't enough to describe how he felt about her. Objectively speaking, those two might even have more in the way of physical beauty than the wild Dalish elf who embodied the untamed yet remarkably sophisticated culture that he found here among her people.

No, there was something different about his fellow Warden that drew him and had from the start, Alistair realized, even in long ago Ostagar. There was an indefinable something to her – the quiet pride and a never-spoken of sense of self-confidence, the dissonance between fierce warrior and gentle woman who listened as her companions spilled their life stories and problems, the undying sense of honor and duty that drove her. She fascinated him, made him want to know more about her, made him want to spend as much time as he could near her.

And that, of course, was where it ended, because never in a million years could he ever expect her to feel the same way. Why would she? As if she were reading his mind though, Gheyna spoke up again.

"She watches you too, you know." Alistair looked at her in surprise. Surely she was mistaken, but the elven girl continued. "She denies it, but she does. She looks for you when you are not in sight and her eyes follow you when you are near," she insisted.

"She does?" he stammered. He really needed to start putting more than two words together at a time. "I mean, you really think so?" The girl's nod sent a wave of mixed emotions through him – relief and gratitude that his newly-realized affections might be returned, but also fear and a crippling uncertainty.

Even knowing that she might, maybe, feel the same or come to feel the same, someday, what was he supposed to do? Flirt, he knew how to do that, but Zevran flirted outrageously and hadn't gotten anywhere with it that he could tell. He wanted more than the flash of her smile or the sound of her laughter, though those were good things too. They were common things though, that anyone with enough wit and humor could summon and he wanted to be anything but commonplace to her.

Something in his answer or his expression seemed to satisfy the elven woman, who appeared to have lost a great deal of her shyness around humans since their initial meeting, or at least considered this important enough to risk talking to him about it. "In the bonding ceremony, there is a part that only pairs participate in. She has no one in the clan to partner with, but you could do it."

"Me?" Alistair replied uncertainly, blinking. "But I don't know…"

"I will show you," Gheyna interrupted his protest. "Tomorrow, the hunters will take Cammen out for his kill and she has agreed to go with them. I will show you then."

The elven girl seemed very certain about the whole thing. "Alright," he finally ventured. "If you're sure I won't screw it all up and make a mess of things. It's your ceremony."

She seemed very pleased by the whole thing. In the field, Kara and the clan elder had finished their duel – a draw – and he was saying something in elvish that Alistair couldn't understand. As Gheyna was turning to leave, Alistair asked her a question. "Why are you so interested in helping me anyways?"

The girl smiled. "The Grey Warden did me a great service when she opened my eyes to Cammen's plea. I only thought I might be able to return the favor." And with that, she was gone, and Alistair was just as confused as he had been at the start.

Kara was approaching him then, looking a little dazed herself, though she cheered noticeably upon seeing him. Noting that pleased him but made his stomach do a nervous flutter. Her expression darkened slightly as she followed the elven girl's progress away. "What did Gheyna want?"

Her reaction puzzled him. "Nothing much. She was just telling me a little about the ceremony in a few days." Somehow it seemed like his part in the whole thing should be a secret.

Kara relaxed at that. "She…well, it's not important." She waved a hand to dismiss whatever it was that she had started to say, and it was clear she wasn't going to finish the thought.

Alistair wondered at that too, but decided to let it drop. "What was it that the elder was saying to you?" he asked instead. "It seemed important."

"Master Varathorn?" She paused for a moment, probably figuring how best to translate for him. "He offered to stand witness for me at my bonding someday, since my own father is gone." She shrugged a little, trying to play off the deed, but Alistair could tell it had been a moving gesture for her. "It will not be necessary, of course, but it was his way of inviting me into the clan, in a sense." That explained it then – he had learned in these past few months that clan was everything to the Dalish, and he knew that the loss of her own weighed heavily on her though she rarely spoke of it.

"To be truthful, I was not sure what welcome we would find here, when we first approached," she admitted. "I am most grateful for their kindness thus far."

"But you're Dalish," Alistair protested. "Why wouldn't they take you in? You're one of them!"

Kara shook her head sadly. "Things are not so easy, Alistair. Hatred for the shemlen runs deep amongst my people, and there are many who would turn away one they thought tainted by contact with humans. We were fortunate both that the clan was more tolerant than most and that they were desperately in need of our help."

"Tolerant?" Alistair laughed. "I don't know, I got some pretty nasty glares around the camp for awhile there."

There was a touch of laughter in her eyes as well, and just a glint of wicked humor as she replied. "At least they did not fill you with arrows first."

-~0~-

That night was another one gathered around the fire as the clan's storyteller did was he was named for. He was being quite kind by speaking in the king's tongue for their sakes, and keeping the glares and the anti-human stories to a minimum, Alistair thought.

He had just finished the tale of a clan leader from long ago who had saved his clan from a darkspawn attack, quite appropriate for the current day. That, of course, focused the clan's attention on the two Grey Wardens in their midst and they were peppered with questions on all sides.

Lanaya, by virtue of being leader, managed to have hers heard over the unintelligible jumble of voices. "How was it that you came to be Grey Wardens?" Apparently the whole clan was interested in hearing the answer as the noise died down to allow them to answer.

"Well, my own story's not that interesting," Alistair replied. "I was in a tournament and lost, the Warden Commander recruited me anyways, the Grand Cleric's head exploded when I got conscripted, and here I am."

"He recruited you even though you lost the tournament?" someone asked from across the fire.

"I know, I don't get it either," Alistair agreed. "But Duncan said he saw something in me that he liked. I guess he didn't see it in the people who actually won."

Lanaya smiled. "And you, da'len? Will you share with us your story? No Dalish has joined the Grey Wardens for many years."

Alistair was curious too – she'd never shared the whole story with him. She hesitated some before starting. "Here then, my people, the tale of how a Dalish hunter became a Grey Warden." He'd heard a few of the tales begin in a similar way – the formula invoked an instant reaction in the other elves who settled in to hear the tale.

"Two young hunters from clan Mahariel went out on the hunt, not far from the camp of their clan," she began. It was a little strange to hear her tell it as though it were about someone else, but he supposed that it helped her to tell it as such. From what little he had been told, he knew it was a painful event in her life.

"They ran across the trail of a small band of humans who had made their way into the woods and knew that they had to drive them away before they discovered the camp. So they caught them, three men. Before the men fled, they spoke of a cave and showed the two hunters a treasure, a small thing that they had found within, covered in ancient elven script. Tamlen wanted to find the cave, to seek out lore for the Keeper."

From the nods around the fire, it was what many of them would have done, but Kara shook her head. "It was a foolish thing to do, and had the young hunters been wiser they would have returned first to the camp. But they found the cave on their own, a place that had not been there before. And within were peculiar signs, as though humans and elves had once lived their together. They did not understand, and so they delved deeper." Though her voice held steady, Alistair saw the sorrow in her eyes as she continued.

"Deep within the cave they found a mirror, a strange thing unlike any that they had ever seen before. Tamlen drew near, saying that he could see something within and before Karaleyna could stop him, he was caught by something ancient and dark." She paused, remembering, and the clan in its entirety seemed to hold its breath with her.

"When she awoke, it was to find herself amongst her clan, without her clanmate. The Grey Warden commander found her sick and alone in the forest and brought her back, and of Tamlen there was no sign. The Grey Warden told her that the mirror had caused her illness and summoned darkspawn to the wood – the mirror he destroyed and the darkspawn they killed, but Tamlen they did not find."

"What happened to him?" a young, quavering voice asked.

"I do not know," Kara replied. Alistair could hear the grief in her voice now, though she continued the tale. "The Grey Warden said that he was gone and would not return. Then he told Karaleyna that she had the darkspawn sickness, that it would destroy her and her clan unless she left with him, to become a Grey Warden. So the Keeper sent her away, to preserve her life and to save her clan."

"Your Keeper sent you away?" one child asked in hushed horror.

"Yes," Kara answered. "I have not seen my clan since, though I hope they are safe. They travelled to the north to escape the Blight, as much of your clan will do soon, I am sure."

The child considered that for a moment. "But you have a new clan now, yes? And you'll save us from the darkspawn?"

"Yes," Kara answered again, and Alistair's stomach did the nervous fluttery thing again as she looked to him and smiled, lightening a little the sorrow in her eyes.

The circle around the fire stayed eerily quiet for a moment until Leliana, ever the bard, offered to share a story, an offer that was eagerly seized by the group. Alistair did not miss the grateful look that Kara flashed the bard as she began, and when the Dalish Warden slipped away into the night he got up and trailed after her.

Alistair found her seated at the edge of a still pond not far from the camp, knees drawn up to her chest with her head resting on her crossed arms. He hesitated a moment, not really sure why he had come or what he had expected to do except that he wanted to make things better for her somehow, even though that was impossible. He very nearly turned around without announcing his presence until she spoke.

"I broke tradition earlier. We never speak of our dead." He should have known that he couldn't sneak up on a Dalish hunter, not in the woods. Since he was revealed, he moved closer to sit nearby, not quite touching. She didn't look at him, staring out instead over the water.

"I think it's good to talk about them," he said carefully, not really sure what response she was looking for. "It's better to talk about them than to forget about them."

To his relief she nodded. "I think so too." She tossed a pebble into the water, watching the ripples as it sank to the bottom. "I see him sometimes, in my dreams. It's as if the archdemon knows and taunts me with him." She paused briefly. "Do you think it knows? Can it know, about Tamlen and the mirror?"

"I don't really know," he answered truthfully. "The way the taint connects us all…maybe." He didn't really want to tell her about what happened to those who were tainted too long, that they became ghouls and slaves of the archdemon. It was just as likely that he had died of the taint first, after all, like she almost had. Knowing about the alternative would just cause her more anguish.

She was silent for a while before speaking again. "Do you ever see Duncan?" she asked quietly.

"I see the archdemon sometimes, like you, but no, I've never seen Duncan in a darkspawn dream," he answered. Not in the darkspawn ones, at least. Sometimes his surrogate father showed up in other dreams that were just as bad though.

"In my dreams, he blames me for not saving him. He's right, you know," she said softly. "I should have told him to go back, I should have stopped him from touching that mirror."

Alistair knew that feeling well. A part of him still wished that he had been there on the battlefield next to Duncan. But he knew now that another part of him was glad – not that Duncan was gone – but that he had this opportunity to fight for what Duncan believed in and maybe to do it next to someone special.

"I don't believe that," he told her firmly. "I don't think Tamlen would blame you any more than Duncan would blame me." She shifted just enough to look at him. "Our connection goes both ways. If I had to guess…I would say the archdemon knows that you're coming for it. It's just using him against you, trying to make you quit."

She didn't answer, turning to look out over the now-still waters again instead. Alistair racked his brain for something that he could do to reassure her, cheer her up, something. What he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, but the idea of that terrified him. He was in no way sure if friends were allowed to do that, or if it was even something the Dalish did.

He settled instead for moving over the last few inches that separated them and dropping one arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a brief and very awkward half-hug. He felt her tense at first and wondered if he had done the wrong thing, but she relaxed a moment later and even leaned into him just a bit before pulling away.

They stayed like that for awhile, side by side, watching the twinkle of the stars in the mirror of the water, neither of them saying a word, both knowing there really weren't any more words to say.


	13. Dances in the Woods Part III

_A/N Okay, wow. That was not quicker like I had hoped. This chapter simply did _not _want to be written. At all. Hopefully you'll see why, and think it was worth the wait! Thanks for sticking with me and extra thanks to SurelyForth for reassuring me that it did not suck completely. I hope you agree with her!_

"This is a rather strange occupation before a wedding, don't you think?"

Kara couldn't help but laugh at Alistair's confused expression. "It is not so strange in the clans, Alistair. Receiving one's vallaslin worthily is a sign of maturity. Everything else has been so rushed, they wanted to make sure they did at least this properly."

"That part I can see, but I'm not sure I understand why getting's one's face marked has anything to do with being an adult in the first place," he admitted.

"You know, Alistair," Leliana interjected, the hint of a wicked smile on her face, "In many cultures it is the wedding itself that ushers one into adulthood, or at least the activity the newlyweds engage in that night. But that, I do not think they will want us to witness." The bard winked at him and began to laugh as Alistair started to blush.

Kara took pity on him and turned the subject back to his previous question. "The vallaslin represents dedication and commitment to the clan and the gods. One is considered an adult when they demonstrate the strength and determination to persevere through the ceremony. That is why we meditate upon our duty to the gods and clan before receiving the blood writing, and why we do so in silence. It is the visible sign of our vow to never again bend to those who would try to claim what is rightfully ours."

She looked out to where Keeper Lanaya was applying Cammen's vallaslin. The boy – he wasn't quite yet a man – was obviously attempting not to squirm and even more so not to cry out while Gheyna, newly marked, held his hand and whispered reassurances to him.

"But they are a little old to still be considered children, aren't they?" Leliana asked.

"Perhaps a little," Kara admitted. "But children come of age at different times amongst the Dalish. They say that in the days when elves were immortal, the young did not come of age for centuries."

"Hmm, I think I am glad we are not immortal today," Zevran mused. "Centuries would be a long time to never experience- " He cut off abruptly as Leliana elbowed him in the ribs.

"You are young to wear the vallaslin though, are you not, lethallan?" Kara turned to look at Deygan, the hunter they had found injured by werewolves in the forest. Thanks to the Keeper's magic, he appeared well on the way to full recovery and had joined the group to watch as Cammen and Gheyna undertook the blood writing ceremony.

Kara nodded in affirmation. "Last winter was my nineteenth, but I received my vallaslin in my sixteenth year."

"I would not have guessed you for so young," Leliana remarked, surprised.

"Some children come of age sooner than others," Kara replied simply.

"Ah, I remember now," Deygan said. "You were one of the young ones who attempted the marking at the last Arlathvhen, before your Keeper put a stop to it."

"We were foolish children," Kara agreed. "The ceremony was completed the following year." In truth it had been Tamlen who cried out during the ceremony, who had demanded he be allowed to participate when the Keeper had given her permission to try, Tamlen who was as always unwilling to let her undertake anything without him. And she had been a headstrong child, determined to prove her maturity before all eyes. It had not seemed so important though, when Tamlen had cried out in pain. Then it had been her turn to follow him, ending her ceremony of her own volition so as not to leave him behind.

"The Crows have a similar practice, as you can see," Zevran commented, gesturing with one hand at the graceful lines across the left side of his face. "Our technique is quite different, however. We use many more needles, for instance."

Alistair grimaced. "More needles…that doesn't sound pleasant at all."

"It is not so bad, Alistair," Zevran said with a wicked grin. "I could show you some day, if you would like a tattoo of your own."

"No thank you," Alistair declined immediately. "That out there looks bad enough." Keeper Lanaya was almost done etching Cammen's vallaslin, one of the simpler designs of Andruil. Kara wondered if Cammen had selected the design himself or if it had been Lanaya, or even Gheyna hoping for Andruil's blessing upon her soon-to-be husband.

Deygan too noted the pattern. "At least the lad has finally passed his hunt, yes?"

"Yes," Kara replied gratefully. It had only taken three tries and all the hunters working in concert to guide his prey just so, but Cammen had finally managed to bring the old half-blind buck down. Not a trophy kill and perhaps only barely considered proper but at that point the clan had just been happy for him to kill something. And it had likely been a favor to the buck to put it down with winter approaching.

The older Dalish nodded. "At least he has done that much. He and Gheyna will do well enough, it is not as if they do not have a clan to help them."

A murmur of approval from that clan drew their attention back to the center of the circle, where Lanaya and Gheyna were helping Cammen to stand as the Keeper introduced the two newly recognized adults into the clan.

"So what happens next?" asked Leliana.

Kara smiled. "They have been fasting all night – the next logical step would be to have a feast. A small one, perhaps, since their bonding is tonight, but a feast nonetheless."

-~0~-

The steps of tonight's dance were more complicated than many of the others, one of the more difficult and intricate of the sword dances made less martial and more artistic for tonight's purposes. It was a bonding ceremony, after all, and not a battle or skirmish.

Cammen and Gheyna had paid her quite an honor by giving her Sylaise's place at the blessing tonight and she intended to do the privilege justice. It had been a fine display so far, various members of the clan displaying their knowledge of the old lore, imploring the gods individually for their favor by showing they had not forgotten their ways. It seemed like a futile hope, that maybe this night the gods would hear when they had not for so long. But they could not hear if there was no call, and so the Dalish continued to appeal, especially on nights like tonight when the future of their people was ensured by the bonding of man and woman.

Kara flourished the crimson-lined fans in her hands that she wielded instead of blades for this dance, stained like her skirts and the ribbons and feathers in her hair to pay tribute to Sylaise the hearthkeeper, who had given fire to the Elvhenan of old and taught them the ways of the home. The fans had been given her by Master Varathorn, the rest the generous offerings of the women of the clan. They had been most kind thus far, a welcome surprise when her people were often insular and wary of those who travelled with humans.

She spun and pirouetted, throwing herself entirely to the dance, remembering the days when she and Tamlen had imagined it, thinking of the days ahead when they too might be bonded. It had always been assumed and understood, she and he, devoted to each other to the end in the way that only the closest of friends and heartmates could be. And now of their pair, only she was left.

The next part of this ritual would be the hardest, the blessing not of the gods but of the clan itself. Bonded couples would offer their wisdom and experience, those anticipating their own ceremonies would proffer their own hopes and dreams for the future. She'd done this a time or two as a youngling, largely in jest since no formal offer had been made. They had always known they would walk a shared path, but she had delayed the inevitable out of fear, and he as always had bowed to her whim. Never again now – what room was there in a Warden's life for such things, especially during a Blight?

In any case, there were many present tonight who would not undertake this ritual again, those like Sarel and Athras who had lost wives to the werewolves and whose loss would be most keenly felt this evening. It wasn't really fair to bemoan her own lot in life when largely by her own doing she'd never had a bond to lose and when she still had good friends to rely on. Kara decided that once her part in the ritual was over, she would return to Alistair and the rest of their companions and resume her role as translator. It would take her mind off her own ponderings and keep her busy, and they would appreciate the explanations.

The final steps and she would reach the end. As the concluding petition her dance would lead straight into the clan's blessing. In another day and age, her hand would come to rest in a familiar grasp and she would meet those beloved blue eyes and his smile. She shut her own eyes as she came to the end, rather than see who was not there waiting for her, the chance that she had waited too long to take, assuming it would always be there.

She spun to a finish to drop to her knees, crimson skirts falling in a graceful pool about her, her hand dropping down…to unexpectedly meet another. It could have been her imagination or possibly a dream. But the larger hand that touched her own was not Tamlen's, was not even elven, and her eyes flew open in surprise to find familiar hazel eyes, human eyes and a warm, shy smile beneath them. Alistair drew her back up to her feet, fans falling from nerveless fingers to lie forgotten in the dust. Kara followed the tug on her hand to their place in the procession, glad that he appeared to know what to do since she couldn't seem to make her feet move of their own accord.

Her mind whirled in a thousand directions, the maelstrom focused on their joined hands and the hammering of her heart. She didn't understand. This was Alistair, her fellow Warden, her brother in arms, her clansmate, her friend. She knew him, trusted him. And yet right now she wanted to run, she couldn't breathe, couldn't hear anything over her heart's pounding. It made no sense, but the feel of her hand in his, and its implications, petrified her.

It had never been like this with Tamlen, not once. They had always been a surety, certain and comforting. This…this was terrifying and bewildering and yet exhilarating all at the same time, and she didn't even know what "this" was. Her thoughts wouldn't stop reeling long enough for her to grasp it. She understood this much – Tamlen had been a part of her heart and now she recognized Alistair was too, in a way far and beyond any of their other companions. She could not tally all the numerous differences between the way she felt for the two men but one stood out clearly. Alistair was still here, and Tamlen was gone.

A gentle squeeze on her hand provided a focus for her racing thoughts and brought her back to the present moment. They were before the bonding couple already – in her stunned state she had not even noticed. Alistair had known somehow to bring an offering, a physical blessing from the clan, but it was up to her to provide the spoken one since he lacked the language. She stammered something she hoped was appropriate - by Gheyna's broad smile it was acceptable – and then they were away again and there was no longer distraction to pull her away from the growing realization that she truly might feel something beyond mere companionship for this man beside her.

And yet it could not be. It was ridiculous even to imagine it, that there might be something beyond the bonds of brotherhood by taint and solidarity in adversity that linked them. Gheyna had hinted at it, some of their companions had made oblique remarks, but she had dismissed them as spurious because they were. There was nothing but friendship between them. And if this was the beginning of attraction on her behalf, it wasn't fair to Alistair to burden him with feelings he didn't reciprocate, that would likely only embarrass him. She would simply explain to him the error he had made tonight participating in this ritual, soundly rebuke whoever had put him up to it, and the matter would be done. The clan would understand.

Something in her heart though rebelled at this notion, this simple and obvious solution before her, and suddenly it was all too much to bear, here before all eyes in the clan and the assumptions they would make. She pulled free her hand from his, and apologizing silently to the confusion in his eyes, fled into the woods behind them. She didn't know where she was going, only that it needed to be away, a place where she could reconcile this war between heart and mind.

"Lethallan, wait!" That was Gheyna's voice behind her, and suddenly things fell into place. Alistair had to learn his part from someone. Confusion transformed to anger and found its focus in the woman who had instigated this mess.

"How could you?" she whirled on Gheyna. "How dare you! He has no idea what he has done!"

"He knows enough," replied Gheyna coolly. "Alistair participated of his own will. He cares about you and you about him, though you refuse to admit it."

"There are many ways to care about someone. He is my friend!" she exclaimed. Friendship was all that could be. It was ridiculous to want or expect more, not from Alistair.

Gheyna's reply was calm. "I think you want more. I saw it in your eyes, you cannot deny that."

"There is no more to be had." She glared at the other woman but Gheyna refused to back down.

"You do not believe that. He does not believe that," she insisted.

Kara felt the anger slough away, leaving only the anguish and something that felt very like betrayal behind as she realized the truth. "He is human," she whispered, ashamed that it should matter at all, but certain that it did, that it was the stumbling block that she could not surmount.

The other woman's expression softened a bit. "He is your clan. You said so yourself. That is all that should matter."

Kara had no answer for her. She was right, Gheyna was absolutely right and still it was a leap that seemed impossible to take. Yet had she not encouraged Gheyna to make a similar leap, to agree to bond with someone tradition said she shouldn't? Because life was short and the unexpected happened and no one else should lament the lost chance for love. Regret for more than Tamlen was not what she wanted to feel for the rest of her life. But Alistair?

"I cannot be like you," Gheyna continued. "You are woman and warrior, clan and outsider alike look to you for guidance. You are elven, but you are so much more. You are a Grey Warden." And so was Alistair.

-~0~-

It had taken him a moment to overcome the paralysis of indecision and decide to follow after the two women. Alistair had no way of following them directly through the woods in the dark, so he settled for moving in what he hoped was their general direction. Eventually the sound of raised voices shouting in the elven tongue guided him the rest of the way. Kara's he recognized, though not that particular tone somewhere between anger and anguish.

Was it his fault somehow? It had to be - why else would she have run from him? But when wasn't he doing something wrong? He nearly turned around, more than a little afraid of facing a woman in a mood like that, especially one who was that quick with a blade. But he would have to talk to her eventually. It might as well be sooner rather than later. It would be better if he knew what he had done wrong, so that he could apologize properly. Plus, he was fairly certain she didn't have a weapon on her at the moment.

He took that opportune moment to stumble and trip loudly against some unseen obstacle beneath his feet. If his presence in the woods had been a secret before, it wasn't anymore. He was pretty sure they had heard him back in the camp at the wedding ceremony.

The sight of a slight figure walking toward him in what little light he could see confirmed it. Gheyna, not his Kara. His Kara? Did he have any right to say that? He wanted to.

"Talk to her," the woman said to him quietly before slipping past him. Talk to her, like it was so easy. He pulled in a deep breath and took the next steps forward. He found her easily enough, following the path that Gheyna had emerged from. She stood with her back to him, half-hidden in the dappled moonlight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as he approached. Her usually quiet voice was even softer tonight, only audible because there was no other sound around them. Alistair still wasn't really sure he had heard her right. What was _she_ apologizing for?

"She shouldn't have done that," Kara continued. "You don't know our traditions, you couldn't have known…" She spun around to look at him. "Back there, that didn't mean anything."

She continued on in a rush. "The clan will understand, you are not one of us after all, and the others needn't know. Once our business is done here, we can leave and things…" Alistair stepped closer and caught her by the shoulders to keep her from pacing. He'd never seen her so agitated about anything.

"Kara, what are you talking about?" She froze in his grasp and looked up at him helplessly. "What did I do?"

"I…you didn't, that is…" She sighed and took a breath to collect herself. "That ritual…it is reserved for bonded or courting couples. No one minds the children but otherwise…"

For what? Oh. _Oh._ He felt the heat rising in his face, quite glad that she wouldn't be able to see him blush, until he remembered that her vision at night was far better than his own. He hadn't thought Gheyna's trick would be quite that forward. But wasn't that what he had been hoping for? A chance to express how he felt, to ask if she might ever in a million years feel the same way? Maybe he hadn't expected that chance to be so soon, but how much time could they possibly have, with darkspawn breathing down their necks and Loghain's forces just as eager for Warden blood?

He drew in a deep breath and took the leap. "Would it….would it be so bad? If we were to court? That is…if I were to court you?"

She pulled out of his grasp and backed a few steps away from him. It hurt, more than he would have thought it could have, since there wasn't anything really between them other than his hopes and dreams. But he'd had physical injuries, serious ones even, that had hurt less.

"It's not that…" she was saying. Of course she'd try to be nice for his sake. "Even if we were to…Nothing could come of it, Alistair." She looked up, to meet his eyes, he thought, though it was hard to tell in the dark. "Any children of humans and elves are human. Most humans don't know that, but…how can I do that to my people, when some think our ways are dying as it is?"

There was a different ache in his chest now. He hadn't really planned on telling her like this. Maker, he hadn't really thought that far, or much beyond "Don't make a fool of yourself this instant." But like other things tonight, it had come up in a rather unavoidable way. "Kara, I know this isn't the best time, but there's something else you need to know about being a Grey Warden. The taint in our blood…besides the nightmares and the shortened lifespan…well, it makes having children almost impossible. Even for one Warden, and for two, together…" He let the ending hang, she was smart enough to figure the rest out for herself.

He let her absorb the news in silence, a part of him wondering how she would react. In anger? In tears? He didn't know how a woman would take such information, that she would never have children, never get to be a mother. It was his least favorite part of being a Grey Warden, knowing he would likely never have a family of his own. He imagined that it would be much harder for a woman, and one who had been previously betrothed.

To his surprise, after a seeming eternity of silence, she simply nodded her head and whispered a single word. "Okay."

It didn't fill him with joy like he thought it would. Instead there was still so much uncertainty, about what he wanted and about what she wanted and everything inbetween. "Look, Kara, no one's ever made me feel the way I do when I'm around you," he tried to explain. "I'm not really sure what to do with that. But if this isn't something you want, I don't want to force you to…"

She forestalled further words by stepping closer to take his hands in her own. "I am lost too," she admitted quietly, looking down at their joined hands then back up at him. "But I am willing to try, if you want that as well."

It was what he wanted, more than anything right now. The Blight made everything more immediate – if he didn't take this chance now, when would another come along? It made him afraid, but it also gave him courage to do what scared him the most.

Before he could second-guess himself, he bent his head towards hers and kissed her. It was only the briefest brushing of lips, an instant of time but one that lasted an eternity and shook him to the core. For a moment he was aware only of the pounding of his heart, which surely they could hear all the way back in the Dalish camp, and the cool fit of her hands in his. Not the hands of some sheltered city maid – they were strong and capable and calloused as his from years of weaponwork. And yet they were so much more delicate than his own and capable of such infinite gentleness and he would have been happy to stay right there in the woods like that forever.

She was gazing back up at him, as paralyzed in the moment as he. Alistair wondered again if he had done something wrong, stepped over a line without even realizing it was there, but at least she didn't run this time. Not until voices calling her name from the camp did she slip her hands from his. With another apologetic glance she backed away and slipped back into the night dark and he was left alone, marveling at how one night had changed everything.


	14. Blood Magic Part I

_Oh my, an update! I'm just going to stop promising to write faster...it seems to jinx my ability to write at all. So I'll just promise that the next is forthcoming, and thank you all again for reading! As soon as I finish DA2, there might be some minor updates to reflect canon, or I might just decide to move everything to AU, but I'd like to avoid that option. I guess we'll see! Mas serannas to everyone whose stuck with me thus far!_

_And now another note thanking Maria13 and DreGregoire of BSN for helping me figure out how to get around the updating error so I could actually release this chapter to all of you!_

The buzz of chatter outside his wagon…what did they call it again? roused Alistair from sleep. Not that he had slept that much, with the rush from the previous night still making his heart race and his knees shake. He hadn't seen his…he didn't know what to call her now that they had made the smallest acknowledgement of something between them. In any case, they hadn't really had a chance to talk about how, or even if, things had changed between them yet. He wasn't even really sure how to begin having that conversation.

But it couldn't start if he stayed inside, and since he was awake already he decided it was as good a time as any to get up. It was probably best to catch her early anyways – they had every intention of leaving that day and once they did it would be harder to have sort of real privacy, surrounded by the snooping ears of their companions at all times.

He stepped out of the aravel (that was it!) to find himself in the middle of a surprising flurry of activity for the predawn camp. And at the center of that activity was his fellow Warden, already dressed again in her hunting leathers and shouldering the harness that held her weapons and quiver. She seemed too prepared for a woman whose companions were largely still slumbering, so Alistair moved over to investigate.

Her greeting was a bit hesitant, not surprising since they were both on uncertain footing. Before he could ask her what was going on though, a similarly outfitted Dalish woman approached. "We are ready to leave when you are, lethallan."

"Very shortly," Kara replied to the woman. "Some of the hunters have sensed something dark in the woods some distance from the camp," she said in answer to Alistair's questioning look. "They are afraid the darkspawn have moved north sooner than expected. I offered to aid their investigation before we departed."

"Darkspawn?" Alistair repeated with concern. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go alone…"

Kara shook her head. "The hunters who sensed the darkness will accompany me. You would only slow us down," she added with an apology in her eyes. "We will only approach near enough for me to confirm the darkspawn presence – we have no intention of engaging them on our own. The clan simply needs to be appraised of the danger. "

He knew she was right on all accounts – the Dalish hunters would move far faster without him, and in the days since Ostagar Kara's sensitivity to the taint had far outstripped his own. Whether it was due to her twofold exposure to the taint, undergoing the Joining during a Blight, or simply her own nature, she could detect darkspawn long before he could, though not type and number like some of the older Wardens had been able to. It was useful during their campaign against the Blight, but it came at a cost. His fellow Warden suffered terribly from the nightmares, he knew. It was probably one of the reasons she was up so early.

She was correct on all accounts, but his gut instinct still told him not to let her go. She was a warrior in her own right though, not some maiden that needed him to protect her. He was her partner, not her guardian. "Be careful," he told her instead.

"We will," she replied, lingering for a moment as if she wanted to say or do more. The pause was awkward; part of him wanted to offer more in farewell, a hug or another kiss or something. But he was all too aware of the other eyes upon them, as, it seems, was she. The moment passed and she turned away, accompanied by two other hunters to disappear into the woods.

Alistair busied himself with preparations for their departure. The Dalish had generously offered as much in the way of supplies as they could, with the clan decimated by werewolves as it had been. Traveling rations, medicines and bandages and more were bundled up and packaged for them. Much of their resupply came in the way of clothing and the like for Kara, who had lost almost everything at Ostagar and hadn't been as able (or willing) to replace things at the various cities and villages they had passed through. It kept him busy, but he still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was amiss.

Midday came and went and still there was no sign of Kara or the hunters. The final straw was Anari. The warhound, who normally had little more than disdain for him, came up and put his head in Alistair's lap with a whimper. It was the final confirmation he needed that something was very wrong. "Will you help me find her?" he asked. The hound whimpered again in response, then barked once. Alistair took that as a yes.

After a short internal debate he headed for the weaponsmith's aravel. The Dalish man seemed fond of Kara and a reasonable sort of fellow who would consider his concerns without simply disregarding him for being human. Alistair had considered Lanaya, but she was an important authority now. He didn't want to bother her with his fears if they turned out to be groundless.

He found the smith supervising one of his apprentices, the two elves bent in concentration over a blade that was taking shape. He waited for an opportune moment to interrupt, but Anari took things into his own paws. A sharp bark cause both elven heads to shoot up. The master's glare settled on Alistair, while Anari sat by his side, tongue lolling indolently and brown eyes wide and guileless.

The apprentice gaped openly until his master reprimanded him absently. "Pay attention to your work, da'len. A weak blade is no aid against the wolf's tooth." The chastened boy went back to his task while Varathorn continued to watch Alistair expectantly. "Is there something you needed, lethallin?"

"I didn't, that is, it wasn't me who…oh nevermind." Alistair could have sworn the mabari was laughing at him. "Kara and the other hunters are overdue," he explained. "I think something's wrong. And…the mabari thinks so too." He hoped that didn't sound ridiculous. Animals had good instincts, didn't they? Surely the Dalish believed that too.

Master Varathorn studied them intently. "When did she say they would return?"

"By noon," Alistair said, glad that the elder didn't dismiss him off hand. It was still intimidating being one of the few humans in the camp. "They were only supposed to scout the area and report back if they found any darkspawn."

The weaponsmith nodded. "Come, let us speak to the keeper."

To his relief Lanaya agreed readily with his concerns and a small party of hunters was quickly organized to search for the missing Dalish.

"I'm going with you," Alistair stated firmly as the group was about to depart.

One of the elves shook his head. "We will travel faster without you. Time could be of the essence."

"You need me," Alistair insisted. "If you come up against darkspawn you'll need a Grey Warden. And we won't have to search blindly – Anari will find her."

"I believe I should accompany you," came Wynne's voice from behind. "There is a very real chance that their delay stems from injury. You may need my help."

"If anyone, it should be me," Lanaya interjected. "I will travel faster with the hunters."

Varathorn shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You are our Keeper, and you have no First. Should anything befall you, the clan will suffer greatly. We have already lost Zathrian. We cannot afford to risk you as well." The young Keeper reluctantly acquiesced.

"Keeper, if I may…" a voice ventured from the edges of the group. Alistair looked over to see the elven woman who tended the halla.

"Yes, Elora?" the Keeper asked, acknowledging the other woman.

"The halla bid me say they will lend their aid to the seekers," Elora said. "They mourn for the hunters we have already lost, and wish not for death to visit the clan again for their inaction."

"Their offer is most welcome, lethallan" Lanaya accepted warmly. "Tell them that we accept gladly."

"Then you'll let me go?" Alistair asked anxiously. Elora's implication that any delay on their parts might mean death for the missing elves petrified him. Just knowing that something was wrong was bad enough. The thought that he might lose her entirely…that was too much.

"Us," Wynne corrected resolutely. "I am coming too. You will need me, Alistair, even with the halla."

Alistair agreed. He would have agreed to almost anything right then if it meant they could leave even a moment sooner. He chafed while they made their final preparations, knowing that every minute they delayed was another minute that the woman he cared for might be somewhere injured and in need of his help, or worse, dying, alone without him. It was too much to bear.

At last the elves and the halla were ready. While the Dalish rode without need for saddle or reins, Alistair noted that two, the ones he assumed would bear himself and Wynne, had a simple saddle and rein setup quite similar to what he remembered Kara having in Ostagar.

"We do not require such tools," Elora confirmed. "We keep the working of them known for the elderly and infirm, but they will serve us now as well for your own comfort and safety. Do not presume to guide the halla with these," she cautioned, indicating the simple bridle and reins. "The halla will choose their own way. The reins will help you communicate, no more."

With the elven woman's help they mounted up, then proceeded to join the other halla at the camp's edge. Alistair looked down to the anxiously mabari pacing mabari at the camp's edge. "Let's go find her," he urged and with an assenting bark the hound was away, halla following after.

They rode in terse silence, nothing but the hooves of the halla on the ground and Anari's panting marking their passage. Alistair tried hard not to think about the milion fates that could have befallen his fellow Warden, the woman he was just beginning to learn how to care about. He reminded himself that she was a competent warrior, not reckless or rash, and that she could take care of herself but it didn't help. Was this what it was like, caring for someone? Always worrying and dreading, fear a constant companion? Would he lose her today, or tomorrow to the Blight? Or to his own stupidity and clumsiness. He almost wondered if it could be worth it…but he'd never know if they didn't find her today.

Anari stopped in a scant clearing, snuffling through the fallen leaves for a scent. "This is where we sensed the darkness," one of the hunters informed the group. Like Kara had said, it wasn't that far from the camp.

"Are there darkspawn about?" Wynne asked, turning towards Alistair. He cast out with that extra sense that made him a Grey Warden, but felt nothing.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Whatever they found, it wasn't darkspawn."

"They were here," one of the hunters observed, studying the area. "At least, there are signs of passage here, but not of great struggle."

Anari had picked his way to one side and barked sharply back at the group. "Anari seems to think they went that way," Alistair said. "Maybe they moved on?"

There was nothing left to do but follow the mabari as he traced some invisible trail. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for it all. The elves could have come across something of interest and gotten distracted. There were a million reasons that everything could have been alright, but he just couldn't believe any of them. The grim faces of the hunters only confirmed his fears. Kara and her party had only intended to scout, not to engage. Whatever had happened to delay them, it was bad.

The forest shadows were growing deep when he realized that the gnawing sensation in his gut was something more. Not darkspawn this time – what he sensed was magic. Not from Wynne just behind him, but ahead, where Anari led them. The mabari seemed to sense something ahead too. He slowed and dropped to a crouch, inching ahead into the undergrowth. Alistair motioned for the mounted company to stop as well, finding it safer to head forward afoot.

They gathered close together, without words knowing that there was danger nearby. "Someone's using magic up ahead," he whispered.

"Not of our clan," a hunter replied immediately. "There is a Dalish healer whose camp seldom strays from ours. Perhaps they have found him?"

"There is also the peculiar shemlen mage," another added.

"Ah yes, I believe we met him…" Alistair murmured sardonically. Still, either of those might be a good thing. Maybe someone had gotten hurt and they had stopped to find this Dalish healer. Or maybe they had been caught in the crazy mage's rhyming games again.

"I am loathe to suggest it, but we may be dealing with maleficar," Wynne said. As much as he hated it, Alistair couldn't disagree. They had come to investigate a feeling of darkness in the woods, and it was possible they had found blood magic instead of darkspawn. The air here was certainly uneasy, the tension absolute.

He had to force himself to act around the tight knot of fear in his center. "If there _are_ blood mages, I'll take care of whatever magic they might use," he told the huddled group. His templar skills might as well be useful for something, he thought grimly. They nodded in accord, and the elves moved ahead, silent in brush.

Alistair followed with Wynne lagging behind, the two humans doing their best to follow in the elves' path and make as little sound as possible. If they were dealing with maleficar, surprise might be their greatest weapon. They needed to know who they were facing, and how many. And what condition their companions were in, he thought bleakly. Though if they had been in the hands of blood mages for the better portion of the day…he didn't want to finish the thought. Let it be the Dalish or that insane old man, anything but maleficar.

The elves had stopped moving forward, spreading out and pressing low to the ground in the underbrush. Alistair inched closer beside one of the hunters, dreading what he would see.

A more detached side of him noted that blood mages, as that was surely what these men were, didn't dress the way he had always imagined they would. The way the Chantry depicted them, he had always pictured them dressed in black, with dark hoods and capes. These men wore fairly ordinary robes, though that detached part again wondered why mages always wore robes, even the male ones, since it seemed very hard to run or fight in robes.

That same detached side took in the lay of the area – the four mages focused on the blood-stained stone altar, the discarded body of an elven hunter pushed carelessly to one side, the terrified Dalish woman huddled next to the pillar to which she had been tied. And a figure he could identify by the taint in her blood even if he hadn't been able to recognize her past the obvious signs of abuse and tortue at the hands of the mages, bound to the altar itself.

His disconnected self kept the rest of him from immediately leaping to her defense, reasoning that caution was still necessary. The blood mages were far closer to the two elven women than they were. If they acted too hastily it could spell doom for them all. The rational side won out, barely, though he could feel his hands tremble with the need to act.

A knife blade glinted cruelly in the dimming light, reflecting torchlight for a brief moment as one of the mage's drew it teasingly slow along the elven Warden's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. They were close enough now to hear, even over the low murmuring chant of the other maleficar. "Ah, but your blood is sweet," the mage purred. "More delicious even than your suffering. What a feast you will give us tonight. There is such _power_ in your blood…"

The mage tightened his grip on one of the elven woman's wrists and Alistair tensed, feeling more than seeing the response of stiffening agony, even while she refused to cry out. He couldn't believe she was still concious, though her struggles were weak and ineffectual now. Knife blade caught firelight once more and then blurred into motion as the mage plunged it through her hand. Kara's body convulsed in anguish but it was the mage's face that transfixed Alistair's gaze, wearing a look of such obscene pleasure that it set him in motion without a second thought.

He called upon his templar training, cleansing the area of magical wards, abolishing any magical protections the mages might have had. A second later he aimed a smiting blow high, trying to avoid further injury to his fellow Warden, who now lay frighteningly still on the stone altar. The mages fell to the ground, stunned by suddeness of the attack and helpless in the face of his magic-countering abilities.

Alistair was dimly aware of the elven hunters around him dispatching the felled mages with cold precision, but his attention was focused on the mage who had wielded the blade. He allowed the man one long second to look up at him in terror before he plunged his sword through the man's chest in one clean, quick thrust. Alistair wondered a moment whether he should be feeling something – satisfaction, a sense of justice, even anger – something other than nothing at all as he freed his blade and wiped it clean on the man's robes.

The detachment fell away when he looked up. The hunters had freed the captive elven scout from her bonds and were attempting to calm the terrified woman unsuccessfully. Wynne was by the altar, brow furrowed in concern and concentration while the last hunter worked to staunch the flow of blood from Kara's pierced hand. Anari stood whimpering with front paws resting upon the opposite side of the altar, nosing the unresponsive woman's cheek. Alistair moved over and took the compressing cloths up himself, motioning away the Dalish man. Tainted, her blood was as dangerous to the hunter as a darkspawn itself would be, but not for him. Not with the same corruption poisoning his blood as well.

He held the bindings tight in one hand, brushing his free hand gently along the lines of the unconscious woman's face. "Wynne?" he asked softly, not really certain if he wanted to hear the older woman's assessment.

The delay before she spoke confirmed his suspicions. "It's…bad, Alistair," the mage said. "She is very weak. I'm not sure either she or I are strong enough for the healing her injuries require."

"So that's it then?" he managed to choke out around the tight constriction in his throat. "There's nothing you can do?"

"No," Wynne answered, her voice taking on a growing sense of resolution. "If I can strengthen her enough to reach Lanaya, she might still have a chance."

Alistair seized upon the slim hope with all his might. "Do it, Wynne," he said, somewhere between a plea and a command. "Don't let her die like this." He needn't have bothered; the elderly mage was already focusing all her magical abilities on Kara, magical energies healing wounds he couldn't see that were draining the life of the woman before him.

Slow minutes crept by at an agonizing pace before Wynne opened her eyes again and withdrew her hands. "Get her to Lanaya, as quick as you can," she instructed the waiting hunter, exhaustion clear in her voice and in the lines on her face. The Dalish man had gathered one of the saddled halla, the graceful creature lowering herself to her knees to make passing the wounded Warden easier.

Alistair gathered her up gently in his arms, mindful of Wynne's instructions to minimize exacerbating her condition. His heart sank as she listed them. Internal injuries, both legs broken, one wrist shattered, bleeding from any of them could weaken her beyond magical help. It brought to mind the first time that he had held her like this, back in Ostagar after her Joining. Back then she had been an unknown, another Warden among many. Now she was one of two, the only other Warden, and more to him besides. He hesitated before passing her limp form into the arms of the hunter; he knew that the lighter elf could travel faster and more surely than he could but he didn't want to entrust her to anyone else. In the end though, the hunter sped off with her into the dark forest, as fast and smooth as only a halla could travel.

With the matter out of his hands and no way to do anything about it until they returned to the elven camp themselves, Alistair returned his attention to their remaining companions in the blood mages' clearing. The two remaining hunters exchanged a quick flurry of conversation in their singsong language, before the man split away, taking one of the halla and disappearing into the dark. The remaining Dalish woman returned to the side of the surviving captive, pale and shivering by the pillar that she had been freed from.

Wynne too was looking quite wan, still standing by the bloody stone altar. "Are you okay?" Alistair asked her in concern. Kara had shared knowledge of the mage's "condition" with him, though that hardly seemed an adequate word to describe the situation. Kept alive only by the power of a Fade spirit, Maker. The things that happened in their little party…he could never have imagined it as a naïve, angry templar trainee.

"I'll be fine, Alistair," she said with a weary smile. "Just need to sit down, I think." He helped her find a comparatively clean rock to rest on, blood-free, before making his way over to join the elven women.

"How is she?" he asked quietly.

The elven woman, he could never keep all of their names straight, shifted her shoulders in a barely perceptible shrug. "She is very frightened," she answered, her soft accent similar to but not identical to Kara's. He wondered if that was because the clans kept to themselves, their speech drifting apart over the years. It was odd where his mind wandered when he was trying hard not to think about something.

Alistair crouched nearer the two Dalish. "Can she tell us anything about what happened?"

"I can try," the hunter said dubiously, and said something in her Dalish tongue. The reply she received was hesitant, also in Dalish. "She is too afraid to remember the use of your tongue," the hunter apologized. "I will do my best to translate."

"They came to the clearing and saw nothing," she said inbetween bouts of rapid bursts of elvish from the scout. "Karaleyna said that there were no darkspawn and then all went black. When they awoke, the mages already had them bound." They had probably walked into a magical trap, he thought grimly. If he had convinced Kara to let him come along, it would never have happened.

"They were made to come here and bound for some dark ritual." The bruising and lacerations around her wrists and throat were quite clear in the torchlight. "They took Arden first, killed him quickly. Bathed in his blood." The hunter shivered; he couldn't blame her in the least. Blood magic was the stuff of nightmares…

Both women took a few moments to gather themselves before the hunter coaxed her clanmate into talking again. "They wanted Lithien next. She…she says they did not understand the words they used, but their meaning was clear enough. They wanted her to satisfy their…other appetites for their ritual." The hunter's expression was grim, but her eyes widened at the woman's next shaky words in Dalish.

"The Grey Warden, she freed herself somehow, and when the shemlen mage reached for Lithien, she struck first." Alistair almost smiled; that sounded exactly like something Kara would do. She was resourceful and brave, always putting her companions' well-being ahead of her own. Now that he looked, he could see the bloody bandage tied around the leg of the mage he had killed. Absolutely unwilling to go down without a fight. Duncan would have been proud of the Grey Warden he had chosen.

"Her action, it infuriated the mage. He…they took her next instead. Punished her terribly in reprisal…" Her voice trailed off…it didn't matter since he could picture most of it for himself anyways. A boot heel upon her wrist to make her drop the knife, more broken bones in swift retaliation to keep her from fighting back anymore. It was only too bad that the mages were already all dead. A sudden thought froze his heart.

"They didn't….not Kara…" He couldn't bear to even put it into words. He had not needed to be told what Kara had saved her companion from. Had the same fate befallen her instead? The fear on his face must have been clear enough even without words between them – Lithien shook her head violently and said something quickly in her tongue .

"No," the hunter translated. "No, she was spared that. Lithien says they were very specific in their torture, like they wanted her to die as slowly as possible, in as much pain as possible."

"Thank the Maker," he breathed. Alistair would never have believed that words like that could bring such relief, but it was probably the only reason they had found her alive, and with any hope of healing her after. "Tell her thank you," he said. "For being brave enough to remember everything. Um, mas serranas." He had probably butchered the phrase, but Lithien appeared to appreciate the attempt anyways.

"Are we ready to head back?" Alistair looked around to where Wynne was resting after Lithien gave him a small nod. The elderly mage allowed him to help her up and then to assist her in mounting the last saddled halla, which she would share with him. The two elven women doubled up on the final halla and they started the journey home, hoping that good news would meet them at the camp.


	15. Blood Magic Part II

Cold. It was the first sensation she was conscious of, followed by dull, throbbing agony across the vast majority of her body. That was second to the cold though, too chilled and weak to even shiver in response. Just one spot of warmth. She tensed her hand reflexively, focusing on that point as a sign that neither death nor the waking sleep had taken her yet. There was a tightening in answer – a pair of hands enclosing her own.

"Kara?" A familiar voice whispered her name full of disbelief and she forced her eyes open in response. It felt as though the Dread Wolf himself were trying to keep them closed.

"Maker's breath, you're awake." Alistair. He sounded like he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't dreaming; the lines pressed into one side of his face suggested he had been sleeping until now. The dark under his eyes suggested he had not slept in some time before that.

A hushed _wuff_ preceded a wet nose against her cheek opposite Alistair's voice, accompanied with anxious whining. She struggled to remember what might have caused such distress in her friends; only the vague recollection of a scouting mission and dark magic eked past her fuzzy mind.

"Anari, go get Aneirin, will you?" Alistair asked, and Anari gave another quiet bark of affirmation before the whisper of cloth signaled the mabari's exit. Alistair chuckled softly. "We seem to have found something to bond over," he said, giving her a warm look. Cammen and Gheyna's bonding. She remembered that now, and the new understanding she and Alistair had reached that night. Last night? Likely not, given his rather haggard appearance.

He brushed some stray hairs away from her face; she marveled at how gentle his fingertips were for a man who always claimed himself clumsy and awkward. "You've been asleep for awhile," he told her. "Aneirin said you would wake up eventually, but I'm not certain how sure he was of that. Do you remember what happened?"

Blood magic. Something. She tried to answer but found her voice strangled and painful, entirely unwilling to cooperate. Alistair frowned. "Don't try and talk. Aneirin said the ropes they used could have damaged something in your throat. You might hurt yourself more. Let him take a look at you first." She tried to remember this Aneirin and failed. Was she supposed to remember him?

"Do you want some water?" There was such relief in Alistair's voice; she must have been in very bad shape. She didn't quite know how to respond to his tender concern for her. Who was she to inspire such care in any man, much less a shemlen Warden? Then again, Tamlen would have done the same.

She let the old ache die away in the face of the present and did her best to nod. Alistair helped her sit up a little and held the cup to her lips when she found even her one good hand too weak to bear even that slight weight. Though it hurt to swallow, the liquid was marvelously sweet across her parched tongue, flavored with familiar preserving herbs in the way of the wandering clans.

The tent interior lightened briefly with the entrance of a trio of elves and a human mage. Wynne, Lanaya, Master Varathorn; their names flickered across her memory. The fourth man she did not recognize, though he carried the mark of her people. She studied him curiously, trying to place his name.

"It is good to see you awake, dear," Wynne said warmly. "You had us very worried for a little while. It seems I have you to thank for uniting me with a former student of mine. Kara, this is Aneirin." She blinked in surprise. How had Wynne come to mentor a Dalish healer? It was without a doubt a story she would have to hear later.

"Alistair, would you go and fetch something for Kara to eat? She will need to regain her strength," Wynne asked. "And something for yourself," the mage admonished sternly. "You haven't eaten nearly enough." Alistair nodded sheepishly, giving Kara's hand a final gentle squeeze before he rose and made his way out of the tent. "He's a nice boy," Wynne said with a fond smile.

"Aneth ara, da'len," the strange elf greeted her after Alistair had departed. "Your recovery will please your companions greatly. They have worried over you for many days. Let us see how your healing is progressing." Many days, she repeated numbly as Aneirin magically examined her remaining injuries. Had Alistair remained by her side for all of it? He looked as though he had.

"Your fellow Grey Warden could hardly be convinced to leave you," Varathorn informed her, as if confirming her unspoken thought. And what would he think of this turn, this man who had offered to stand as her father one day at her bonding? His face remained closed to her, his thoughts hidden away.

"You are coming along well," Aneirin said, interrupting her brooding thoughts. "We will be able to finish your healing in the next few days, I believe, as you regain your strength." He laid a hand upon her throat; she winced a little when he came in contact with the bruises the mages' nooses had left behind. "I think we can take care of this today though," he said, and her breath came far easier as the healer's magic erased the damage that had been done.

"A few days?" Kara frowned, testing her voice. They had already spent far too long here among her people. As welcome as that was, the Blight would not wait for them, and they had many more treaties to pursue before they were ready to face the archdemon.

"Patience, child," Wynne chided gently. "I know our cause is urgent, but you were badly injured. Were it not for Aneirin's skills, you would not be here today." The mage's voice held a slight note of pride as she regarded her former pupil.

Kara relented with a sigh. There was little sense in arguing and even less in being ungrateful. "Ma serranas, Master Aneirin, for your help."

The elven healer laughed quietly. "Nay, I am no master of the clans. The Dalish are merely kind enough to allow me to stay nearby, and borrow from their supplies from time to time. I am just a simple healer and glad to be of service." He rose from his knees and lightly dusted off his pants. "Be easy for now, rest and eat and regain your strength. That will be the quickest route to your full recovery."

"Ma nuvenin," she acquiesced reluctantly. "I shall."

"Good." The healer gave her a gentle smile. "Then I shall leave you to rest for now. There are still many among the clan who need my assistance." Aneirin offered a polite nod to the Keeper, then ducked out of the tent.

"The clan is very grateful , lethallan" Lanaya said warmly. "Because of you, the Dread Wolf overlooked Lithien. We cannot thank you enough."

"There is no need for thanks, Keeper," Kara protested. "I did little enough. Had I done more, perhaps Arden might still be among us." More details were coming to her. An ambush in the woods, springing a magical trap, waking in the bonds of the mages. Arden's death at their hands, and her desperate attempt to fight free to save Lithien.

Lanaya shook her head. "There is no blame on your shoulders for Arden's death. Lithien told us of your ordeal. There was little you could do, and you did more than anyone could have expected." Her voice was firm on the matter; Lanaya was going to be a good Keeper.

The rustle of tent fabric heralded Alistair's return. "I already ate," he said hastily, when Wynne turned a disapproving look at the single bowl in his hand. An inviting smell rose with the steam off the dish, and Kara realized suddenly how ravenously hungry she was.

"We will leave you to your meal then," Lanaya said. "And I will let the clan know that you are awake. They will be pleased to hear the news."

"And get some rest," Wynne admonished gently. "Is there anything else that you need?"

Kara shook her head, then thought a moment. "Another blanket?" The cold still made her thoughts sluggish and the fatigue worse, the way the land felt before winter's long end.

Wynne nodded. "Of course, we should have thought of that. I'll be back shortly." With that, the trio exited the tent.

Alistair helped her to sit up, leaning back against him so that she could eat without choking. The once simple task was confounded by her injuries, splints on legs and wrist making it near impossible to shift her position and exhaustion hampering what movement she did have. They settled eventually for Alistair holding the bowl in one hand while the other supported her shaking left. At least it allowed her the dignity of feeding herself for the most part.

She expected Wynne when the tent flap shifted again, but looked up to see Master Varathorn instead, blanket in hand. He studied them for a moment as he spread the cover over her legs. "It seems I spoke in haste earlier, when I offered to stand as your father if ever you found a man worthy of you," he said quietly in the Dalish tongue.

Her heart dropped at his words. "Master Varathorn…" she began, but he cut her off.

"He is a good man, da'len," the weaponsmith continued. "He has refused to leave your side throughout this ordeal, and his care for you is wholly apparent. This is not quite the match I expected, but I cannot disapprove. Neither, from what I knew of him, would your father have objected, given the circumstances."

His acceptance of her newly formed relationship with a shemlen man surprised her. Though Zevran's stories seemed to suggest that humans often sought elven partners, she had been prepared to receive Master Varathorn's condemnation. The clans simply could not survive if the people were to form such liaisons with the shems often. But she was no longer simply a Dalish hunter. She was a Grey Warden, and as such her responsibilities, and her ties, extended beyond the clans into the larger world. That seemed to be enough, for some of the Dalish at least, to regard her situation in a different light.

"If I may make a suggestion…" This time the words were in the King's tongue, and Kara knew they were intended for Alistair as well. "You are both in need of sleep. The cot is big enough for two."

The proposition shocked her; from the way that Alistair spluttered behind her, he felt much the same. "You want me to stay _here_?" Her fellow Warden's voice rose and cracked incredulously on the last word, like he might have a heart attack at the mere thought of it.

"As you refuse to sleep elsewhere, it seems the obvious solution," Master Varathorn replied mildly, and though his face remained largely serious there was a decided twinkle of amusement in his eyes and the hint of a smile about his lips. "And it is rather obvious that neither of you are in shape for…other activities, so there is little lack of propriety. Though we could always provide a chaperone, if you both insisted." Kara could almost feel the embarrassed heat from Alistair's surely blushing face.

"Clearly," the weasponsmith continued on blithely, though he was openly smiling now, "you would both benefit from the arrangement. _You_," addressing Alistair specifically, "would finally get some sleep, while she would be far more comfortable with your added warmth, yes?"

"I…I suppose so," Alistair answered, though he sounded far from certain. She felt much the same…what in the Creators' names was Master Varathorn thinking?

The elder Dalish smoothed out the blanket across her legs once more, then straightened and rose. "In any case, I must return to my duties. My apprentice has no doubt ruined more good wood in my absence. Dareth shiral, lethallin, I will come visit you again later."

"Dareth shiral, Master," she returned, and with that, he exited the tent. They continued her meal in awkward silence, not sure how to go about Varathorn's suggested arrangement. Alistair was clearly uncomfortable with it, and she didn't quite know how she felt about it either. On the one hand, it felt like too many things between them were progressing so fast, too quickly to adjust her mindset, to become accustomed to them. On the other, there was no point denying the attraction any longer, or the sense of secure peace she felt being near him like this, which was decidedly at odds with the nervousness and uncertainty that accompanied each new step as they explored this journey together.

Nor could she deny that between the meal and Alistair's proximity she was finally, _finally_, beginning to feel warm again, and with that warmth came a lassitude that grew ever greater until she could barely keep her eyes open any longer. "Had enough?" Alistair inquired when he noticed her lack of interest in eating more. At her nod, he set the bowl on the ground, then hesitated. "Do you want, I mean, are you okay? With me sleeping here? I don't have to if you're not, I can bring my bedroll in maybe and sleep on the ground or I..." He stopped suddenly, as if realizing that he was starting to babble.

"No," she answered quickly. "That is, I don't mind. It's fine. You do not have to stay if you would rather not." She paused when a sudden bout of shivering started. That seemed to decide Alistair.

"Varathorn might be right," he sighed. "I don't know. I'm…okay with it if you are. It's just sleeping. Right?" He laughed nervously – it was one of the things she found endearing about him. So many humans treated elves as inferior beings, objects for their pleasure. But with Alistair, there was no doubting that his intentions or that they were honorable, that he saw her as an equal, and that he was extremely anxious about all of it.

She started to answer back but yawned instead. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep her eyes open at all, despite the fact that she hadn't been awake for very long yet. Her injuries, and the healing that had brought her back from them, had taken their toll – she would simply have to get used to that for the next several days. But this…lying here with this man like this, this was something she could get used to. This might be something she _could_ get used to, and it was an idea that she found surprisingly alluring.

They shifted around a bit self-consciously until they could lie in a position that was comfortable for them both, which was to say that Alistair did most of the moving since the splints kept her largely immobile. They ended with her head pillowed on his arm, hips perpendicular to each other to let her legs lie flat while allowing her to lean back against him. It was, she decided, a most marvelous feeling, like finding an unexpected safe shelter in the maelstrom of their battle against the Blight. And since it was all an unorthodox situation anyways, when Alistair shyly placed his hand over her own, she decided to do a very un-Dalish thing and intertwined his fingers with her own.

Perhaps it was simply exhaustion, perhaps her imagination, but wrapped in that secure embrace, the nightmares did not seem so bad that night.

-~0~-

It was all a little surreal, Alistair thought somewhat giddily. The sheltered, begrudging templar trainee he'd been not all that long ago could never have imagined it, waking up with a beautiful woman asleep in his arms. He still expected to wake up at some point and find himself alone again, maybe back in the monastery, or in the Grey Wardens' camp in Ostagar. Duncan's loss still hurt, it would probably never stop hurting. And Maker knew that their chances against the archdemon would have improved with him on their side. But even so, if this was a dream he wasn't sure he wanted to wake from it. He'd thought the family the sloth demon had created for him in the Fade had been compelling, but this was something he could barely even have daydreamt before. Not just that he would find a woman worth wanting, but that that woman might have some feelings towards him as well.

One or both of them might meet their end in the days to come, fighting against the Blight. Were it not for Wynne and the Dalish, that day could have already come for Kara. And in any case, they were both already doomed by the taint. So every moment was precious, and he intended to do his best in making the most of them.

She never ceased to amaze him, this proud, fierce warrior who had allowed him some glimpse into her life. Barely a day after waking from near-fatal wounds, and she was already insisting on small things like feeding herself, though the spoon shook slightly in her hand. It was a little hard to remember how fragile she still was at times when she did things with such determination; the fact that she still needed to lean against him to sit up for a prolonged period served as a rather enjoyable reminder.

The other reminder was Aneirin, whom Alistair could feel using his magic to gauge the Dalish woman's recovery as she polished off a second helping of a late breakfast. He took the return of her appetite as a good sign – the taint made sure that Grey Warden metabolisms required constant stoking. Aneirin too seemed satisfied with what he saw.

"I am impressed," the healer remarked. "You seem to be progressing well."

"Can we finish the healing today then?" Kara asked eagerly. He wasn't sure that they should be so keen to return to the fight, but she was right. They couldn't stay here forever; every day was another day that the archdemon could show itself. Time wasn't on their side.

Aneirin was shaking his head. "You should not push yourself so hard. You still need time to recover your strength." Though he couldn't quite see her face sitting behind her, Alistair knew that her eyes would be taking on that look of quiet, flinty determination that turned them the color of steel. She would be determined to get her way in this. Stopping the Blight meant too much to her. Aneirin seemed to sense this too. "One thing," he conceded with a sigh. "You may pick."

"May I have your council?" she replied solicitously, apparently satisfied with the compromise.

The healer considered for a moment. "The breaks in your legs are relatively clean. They would heal fine in time, and would require little of you to heal them now magically. Those in your wrist are far more serious. If the bones do not heal properly, you may have difficulty even holding a blade for a prolonged time."

There was no hesitation in the movement. Her right arm came up in one fluid motion, held steady before her, and he knew her gaze would be the same. Firm, collected, unflinching. Aneirin nodded once in acknowledgment. "Very well. I warn you though, this will not be easy," he cautioned. "There has been enough time for some natural mending to take place. We attempted to set the bones properly, but some may have healed wrongly. I may have to break them again in order to put them in their proper place."

"It must be done," Kara said resolutely, no trace of fear or indecision in her voice. He admired her confidence so; if only he could be half as sure about things as she was. Aneirin took her proffered arm between his hands, and Alistair could detect the magical energy start to flow. He was sure his heart stopped beating when he felt Kara reach for his hand with her free one; he did have to remind himself to breath after a few moments. But the reason became clear to him when that grip tightened, and he heard her inhale sharply, though otherwise she made no other sound. He wished he had thought of it first, but still there was something thrilling and reassuring and unnerving, all at once, that she would turn to him for comfort and solidarity in a time of pain.

It was strange. The moment lasted an eternity, knowing that she was hurting and he could do nothing to stop it. And yet it was over all too soon, this interlude where she turned to him for strength instead of the other way around. The reversal of roles was disconcerting but oddly empowering, knowing that, just this once, someone might actually need him, and him in particular, that she might depend on him for something she could not do herself. Even Duncan had not been able to offer him that.

But Aneirin was pulling back, advising Kara to rest and that he would come to visit later, and she was sagging back into his arms relieved and drained. They stayed like that for a period, while her breathing grew less labored and she surreptitiously wiped tears from her eyes that he pretended not to see.

Finally she pushed herself into sitting up enough to crane her head around to look at him. The exhaustion in her eyes was all too clear. "Will you...would you stay?" she asked hesitantly. "Just until I fall asleep?"

He couldn't believe she thought she needed to ask. "Of course," he replied; the tired smile he received in answer was all the reward he needed. And any discomfort he might have felt while holding her there was more than compensated for when she snuggled a little more into his arms before drifting off to sleep. So even though his back was getting a bit stiff and his arms were starting to cramp a bit from being in one position for too long, he stayed a while longer even after her breathing had slowed to a peaceful rhythm to watch her sleep and muse on the truth of a statement he had once made in jest, unaware of the things that would come. _One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together._

-~0~-

Despite almost everyone else's objections, Kara was determined to test the strength of her newly healed legs. After Aneirin had reluctantly confirmed that she would do herself no lasting damage by using them now, there had been no convincing her to lie abed any longer, no matter how tired she still was. Kind though they all were, she had had enough of being waited on hand and foot as though she were some helpless child. It was good to be on her own two feet again, even if she still depended on Alistair's help to remain on those feet for very long.

More concerning than her own well-being was the reaction of the clan to this ordinarily frowned-upon union. There was little point in denying the fact, not now. And truthfully, while she felt no need to flaunt their relationship, she had no desire to hide it, as if she were somehow ashamed of him or this burgeoning bond between them.

In fact, for a man who had so little to be ashamed of, there seemed to have been far too many people in his life who had hidden him away for fear of the embarrassment or trouble he might have caused them by his mere existence. The thought of the lonely, self-conscious child he must have been, passed from one indifferent guardian to the next, made her feel unexpectedly protective and determined to break that pattern, as if she might fix herself a lifetime of inaction and neglect.

So it was that when they came at last to the hahren's fire where the clan and their companions gathered for the evening meal, and when Alistair had helped her to her seat and taken his own beside her, she hesitated only a few moments before moving over to close the small space between them. It was hardly a Dalish thing to do, but then he was not Dalish, and she only partly so now. She felt him stiffen a little in surprise when she laid her head on his shoulder wearily, though he relaxed shortly after and even hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders to pull her just a bit closer.

In the end, she realized, what the rest of the clan thought didn't matter. She had Master Varathorn's blessing in lieu of her father's, but even without it, this man deserved to be loved and wanted like he hadn't been his whole life. Even were all the clan to disapprove, he deserved that much. She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest and smiled to hear his heart racing.

Had she bothered to look though, she would have seen more approving smiles in the clan than she had expected, Varathorn's consent having gone far in persuading a clan concerned for the welfare of one of their own sent out into a strange world with none to safeguard her. There were those who would never be convinced that good would come of association with shems, of course, Hahren Sarel foremost among them. But the right to protest belonged to others, and so they kept their disapproval to quiet looks of disapproval and no more.

She would have observed likewise mixed reactions among their companions. Leliana smiled openly while Wynne's gaze was more measured. Zevran sighed a little in disappointment but followed it quickly with a philosophical shrug, while Sten beside him remained as impassive as ever. But in the end the couple remained oblivious to it all, lost in their own content little world.

-~0~-

Their shouting roused the entire camp. Kara glared at him defiantly, arms crossed and grey eyes stormy, but Alistair wasn't going to back down on this.

"No," he said again. "Absolutely not! Aneirin says you're not ready yet."

"The archdemon is not going to wait until Aneirin says I am well," she hissed. "We leave today!"

He arched an eyebrow. "So you can what? Collapse on the darkspawn and crush them under your weight?"

Kara scowled daggers at him, but at least she didn't reach for the real things. "It will take more than…"

"More than what? Nearly dying?" he cut her off, knowing what she would say. "No. You're just being pigheaded and it's going to get you killed."

"_Ferelden_ will pay for _your_ stubbornness!" she shot back. "What will your excuse be then?"

"Fine!" he snapped. Maker's breath, but the woman could be impossible! He stalked over to where her pack lay waiting and seized it, dropping it with a heavy thud at her feet. "Let's go then."

She glowered irately at him once more before stooping to pick the substantial pack up. She had barely lifted it off the ground though before she staggered, backpack falling from her still weak wrist. Alistair reached out to steady her before she completely lost her balance.

"Look, I know you're frustrated," he said when she growled in aggravation. "I get it, I really do. But pushing yourself is only going to make it worse." Kara tried to pull away but he only tightened his grip on her shoulders. "Listen to me! The best thing you can do right now is listen to Aneirin, and take it easy just a little bit longer."

He held her there until the fuming glare gave way to a defeated sigh. "A few more days, okay? Then I'll race you to the archdemon if you want."

She didn't smile. "And what if there are not a few more days left?" she fretted.

"Then we'll have to do the best we can. We still need to talk to the dwarves and look for Andraste's ashes. A few days isn't going to change any of that." It wasn't exactly _soothing_ but it _was_ the truth. "We're not always going to have the luxury of time to rest. Let's take it while we can, okay?"

A hesitant voice cut into their quarrel. "Grey Wardens?" They turned to find a Dalish woman there. Alistair was more than a bit surprised they hadn't attracted more of an audience with their very vocal dispute.

"Yes, Elora?" Instantly Kara was back to her normal courteous self. Alistair wished he could reroute her ire so easily.

"I believe I may have a solution to your dilemma." The older Dalish woman gestured, and one of the stately deer-like creatures the elves called halla came up towards them. "This is Seihn. He is one of our unmated bucks. It was his sister whose lifemate you saved – in thanks, he wishes to accompany you in your quest."

"No," Kara replied immediately. She turned to the halla, addressing him directly. "Ma serranas, lethallin, but we cannot. This road is too dangerous, and we have lost too many friends already. You cannot come."

"He insists," Elora countered. Alistair wondered how she translated for an animal who appeared to make very little of anything he recognized as communication. At least Anari barked and bounced and did any number of things to make himself understood. "He knows that there is danger," the Dalish woman continued. "But he will fight now, or fight when the clans march. He will have it no other way."

"That's all well and good, but how is one…halla going to help us?" Alistair put in dubiously, faltering around the unfamiliar word. "I mean, we can't _all _ride on him. Can we?"

"No," Elora answered with a chuckle. "But the halla are able fighters, and none can travel as quickly or as quietly. Seihn could help you scout, or deliver messages." She ran a hand down the animal's sleek pristine hide. "They are proud creatures, but not arrogant. They will fight, with a warrior or without, and when needed they will bear riders or act as beasts of burdens. And they are strong – the halla often pull many times their own weight when they guide our aravels."

"And as I said, he may provide a solution to your current dispute," Elora continued. "Should Seihn accompany you, you could depart today as you are so eager to do, since he could bear the weight of your belongings, and even yourself until such time as you recover fully. He is more than willing to be of aid in any way you require."

Kara did not answer immediately, visibly torn between leaving as she wanted and allowing another companion to join them on their dangerous quest. She turned to him for guidance, which was on the whole a rather new experience. It was strange having his opinion valued, even if she had been willing to come to blows with him over it just a few minutes prior. Most people just made the decision and told him about it afterwards.

He still had his own misgivings on this whole thing though. "It's a fine offer and all, but I'm just not sure. One pack animal just might not help us all that much."

"Elora." Lanaya had come up behind them at some point in the discussion. "Do we not have some of the humans' beasts still?"

"The strange four-foot creatures?" Elora nodded.

"Horses?" Alistair asked, surprised.

"I believe that is what they are called, yes," Elora confirmed. "After the last group of humans we encountered fled. Zathrian demanded I destroy them, but it seemed wrong. They are not like the halla, but I could not. I thought perhaps we could sell the poor creatures, or at least release them."

"Then perhaps we can help one another again, Grey Wardens," Lanaya suggested. "It would be to both our benefits were you to take these horses from us, and use them to aid your cause. It would likewise gratify the clan if Seihn were to have his wish and join you."

Alistair looked to Kara and shrugged. He had no more objections to the arrangement; the rest was up to her. She agreed reluctantly. "Very well then, if that is indeed what he wishes. He may join us." The halla tossed his head and moved to nuzzle his head against the Dalish Warden's arm. He appeared quite pleased, if a deer-like creature could look pleased anyways. Kara looked more resigned than happy, though she reached a hand up to rub against his nose.

"I guess we should tell everyone to get ready then, shouldn't we?" She nodded in a rather subdued manner, as though all her eagerness to be gone had fallen under the weight of another member to their party to worry about. Alistair decided to push his luck a little and try to take advantage of her quieter mood while he could. "We'll be travelling a long ways today. Maybe you should sit down and get some rest while the rest of us pack up." She nodded again, and while it was gratifying to not have to argue with her about it, it was a little concerning how downcast she appeared. But, he decided, she would perk up again when they were on the road.

He busied himself with gathering people and their belongings from where they had spread themselves amongst the Dalish clan. He sent Anari after Morrigan, not really caring to look for the witch himself. She had absented herself from the camp some time ago, which Alistair had heartily approved of. It was a much nicer place without the swamp witch around. Kara might get along with her, but it personally wouldn't bother him too much if the archdemon swallowed her whole. He might even thank it, if it did.

As he crossed through the camp carrying yet more supplies, he caught a glimpse of Kara seated at the elder's fire, surrounded by the clan's children. She was regaling them with some story in their tongue, the children all caught up in rapt attention, even the little tot seated on her lap. The Dalish Warden appeared to be enjoying herself immensely, a smile returned to her lips and lighting her eyes. Alistair found himself with a renewed desire to end the Blight soon, not just to return calm to the land but to ensure that she would be able to do this again; not just be with her clan but to be happy, and content, so they wouldn't have to fight anymore but could just be together, without the Blight looming over their heads.

He turned away to load up a bag on one of the packhorses the Dalish had provided. "Thank you, Zevran, that's very kind," came Wynne's voice, and Alistair turned to find the elderly mage trailing after the assassin, who dropped her bags off by the horses.

The elf bowed gracefully. "But of course, my dear Wynne. I am yours, whenever you might desire my services." He finished with that saucy smirk that Alistair hated so much, the one that made it quite clear what "services" he was referring to.

Wynne just chuckled. "Someday, you're going to regret making that offer, young man. I just might take you up on that." Alistair was more than a little horrified at the thought, but Zevran burst out laughing.

"Oho! I look forward to the day!" he chortled. "But alas," he said, with mock mournfulness, "our little tryst must wait. There are many more bags to carry, and perhaps a few more skirts to lift before we go, yes?" Alistair scowled at him as the Antivan assassin sauntered off to do Maker knew what.

"He's harmless, Alistair," Wynne said with another chuckle. "Mostly, anyways." Alistair just scowled again. He didn't like the assassin, and he doubted that would change any time soon.

"Are we ready to leave?" Wynne asked, changing the subject abruptly.

Alistair nodded. "Just as soon as everyone gets here, I imagine." They looked over to see Sten, Leliana, and Zevran approaching with the last of the bags. That left only Kara.

Wynne seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "Let me go and find her, Alistair," she said. "I've been meaning to speak to her about something anyways."

That seemed a little strange to him, but who knew what women talked about sometimes. "I saw her by Sarel's fire, with some of the children a little while ago," he informed her, and the mage nodded before departing.

Alistair returned to the task of stowing away the rest of their belongings, but started to wonder at the amount of time Wynne and Kara were taking. He was about to look for them himself when he saw the pair finally approaching. Wynne wore the same serene expression she usually did, but in contrast to her sunny mood earlier, Kara looked troubled. What could Wynne have possibly said to her to chase her cheerfulness away?

He caught Kara's arm as she passed by. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, not wanting to draw too much attention from the rest of their companions.

She looked as though she would answer at first, then changed her mind. "There is no need to speak of it," she answered instead before turning away, leaving him even more puzzled than before. It seemed like he should pursue the matter, but there was no way to do so in any privacy, so he let it drop, at least for now.

As she reached Seihn's side, she reached up, he assumed to mount by pulling herself up using the halla's ornate horns, the way she had done in long ago Ostagar. The halla instead knelt on his own accord, lowering himself to allow her astride more easily. She frowned and said something in Dalish, to which the halla shook his head and refused to rise, while Alistair did his best to hide a smile. He had no need to fear for the Dalish woman's safety while Seihn was about, he saw. The halla was going to take her well-being into his own…hooves. Seihn refused to rise until Kara was securely seated, and she finally gave in with another defeated sigh. Kara looked over her shoulder at him as the halla rose, rolling her eyes; this time there was no way to hold in his amusement. She was going to take it easy, whether she liked it or not apparently.

With everyone and everything thus secured (with the exception of Morrigan, and it really would have been okay if she never showed up again), it was finally time to leave the relative safety of the Dalish camp. Seihn moved alongside him and the packhorse he lead, allowing the two Wardens to trade glances. Alistair saw reflected in her eyes his own feelings, willingness to be gone, to be on the road to completing their mission at last, but tinged with regret at leaving this place which had become close to their hearts.

The Dalish came out to meet them as they departed, accepting the Wardens and their motley crew as their own. They were unexpectedly warm for a people who had cultivated such a reputation for being aloof and haughty, and Alistair knew that Kara was the reason. Because of the Dalish Warden, they were willing to accept all the others. Duncan had known exactly what he was doing, choosing her amongst all the potential recruits.

It was her they especially embraced; Kara looked amazed and touched to be treated so warmly by a clan that was not her own. An older Dalish man pressed a thick bundle into her hands, the man whose wife had become a werewolf that they had had to put down. "This cloak was my daughter's, before she moved on from the clan," he told her. "It would please me greatly if it kept you warm in the winter to come."

"Ma serranas, Athras," she answered, visibly moved by the gesture. Other gifts were pressed into their hands as they moved on, until only Lanaya and Varathorn were left. The Keeper raised her hands and pronounced a blessing from the Creators over them. "May Mythal the Great Protector watch over you on your journey," she said, "and Ghilan'nain always guide you. Creators bless you, lethallin, and grant that we see one another again soon."

"Creators watch over you as well, Keeper," Kara intoned gravely. She hesitated a moment, then removed a satchel from her shoulders. Alistair recognized it as the one that carried her father's notes, the one she kept nearby at all times. She looked to Varathorn. "Master Varathorn, will you do me a great service?"

"Of course, daughter," he replied immediately.

Much to Alistair's astonishment, she handed the satchel and the tome down to the woodsmith. "My father's notes are a great treasure to the people," she explained. "My friends and I travel through many dangers to fight the Blight. I would not have these lost in my care."

Varathorn gazed at her steadily for a few moments, as if gauging her determination before nodding and reaching out to accept the bag and its precious contents. 'They are indeed of immense value to the people, but they are more so to you," he said. "I will hold them for you, until you come to claim them from me again."

She nodded in gratitude, and Seihn moved to the edge of the camp. That was apparently all the farewell she was willing to give. Alistair and their companions filed out behind her, and that was it. They had left the Dalish behind at last.

Morrigan rejoined them without a word after they had gone some distance from the camp, Anari panting happily at her side. It was now back into the wilderness, and back to their quest. It was time to once again gather their allies, and defeat the Blight.


	16. Vir Tanadahl

_Forgot to stick an A/N in here really quick, to just acknowledge that this chapter draws liberally from several game dialogs and codexs, so those belong to Bioware and not me! Thanks to everyone who's gotten this far with me!_

"Well, I think this is it," Levi drawled. "The entrance to the mines that will lead us up to Soldier's Peak."

"This?" Alistair repeated skeptically. It looked like a giant hole in the ground. He could be persuaded that it was a cave, maybe, but it certainly didn't look anything like the entryway to a Grey Warden fortress.

Leliana appeared to have similar concerns. "We are not going to go in there, are we?" she asked dubiously. "Why would the Grey Wardens use something like this to reach their fortress?"

"Well, I suspect they had a real road back in the day," Levi explained. "But those are long gone now. This will get us up to the top though, I promise."

"Hmm, are you absolutely certain?" Zevran asked, looking into the dark curiously. "There are only a few dark holes I relish exploring, and bottomless pits are not one of them. Unless, of course, they are the bottomless pits of a beautiful woman's eyes," he added with a mischievous smile and a wink at the ladies of the group. They reacted predictably, Wynne with a long suffering sigh, Leliana by rolling her eyes, Morrigan with a scoff.

Alistair watched for Kara's reaction out of the corner of his eye, trying not to look concerned when she smiled. It wasn't like he _was_ worried, not exactly. It was just that Zevran was a flirt, and a good one. And he was still so awkward. How could she _not_ want Zevran instead? But she caught his glance at that moment and there was a smile on her lips and enough warmth in her eyes that there was no doubt which of the two of them she preferred, no matter how unreasonable it was. It made him feel like he could do anything.

"I think we should camp here a day or two," Levi was saying when Alistair came back to himself. "Could take me a bit to get my bearings. Might as well be comfortable while I'm at it."

A few days would be wonderful, Alistair thought. A few days to just be together, for more than just morning sparring sessions and evening reading. They never had much time during the day, with Kara spending more time scouting ahead with Seihn now that she was recovered from her injuries. And then there had been their…tiff at Goldanna's, that had made that little trip even better.

He understood that Denerim had made Kara edgy; not being able to visibly carry weapons in a city that was educated enough to recognize a Dalish elf and ignorant enough to hate them would do that to any person. Still, he hadn't expected her to snap at him like that, though on further introspection she hadn't been wrong. He did need to stand up for himself more, to go after what _he_ wanted sometimes. After all, look what taking a chance in the Dalish camp had gotten him. He had won permission to woo the most remarkable, wonderful women he could have imagined.

They hadn't really talked about what had been said at Goldanna's yet, though Kara looked sometimes like she was on the verge of bringing it up. He didn't blame her for not doing so, though. There were more than a few ears eager to eavesdrop at evening camp, and this was personal.

Kara was nodding at Levi. "Set up camp," she told the others, dropping her bag to the ground. "Perhaps I can see to our fresh supplies if we have a few days. Morrigan?" She looked over at the shapeshifter, who nodded in reply.

"Very well," Morrigan conceded, and just like that, Alistair saw his chance to spend a little time with Kara slipping away.

"Wait," he blurted out. Kara turned to look at him curiously. He decided that if he was going to start looking out for himself more, he might as well start now. "Would you take me, instead? You could teach me how to hunt. I'd like to learn."

The proposition sounded ridiculous even as he said it and indeed Morrigan scoffed, but Kara did not dismiss it off-hand, looking thoughtful instead. "Perhaps two hunting parties?" she suggested. "You and I, and Morrigan could take someone else."

"The dog then," said the swamp witch sardonically, "else we shall catch nothing at all."

"Except maybe for each other," Leliana remarked in a loud mock whisper to Zevran, hiding a wide smile behind her hand. The elven assassin grinned broadly in response.

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered, feeling his face flush red; they _would_ jump to conclusions. Even the dog looked like he was laughing at him. Kara, however, remained unperturbed, simply pausing to gather up her bow and the rest of her things before making her way out of their camping grounds. Alistair dropped his pack but kept his sword and shield. He felt rather naked without them, and naked was what he most wanted not to be right now. She might not have heard the snickers from their companions, but he certainly did.

He waited until they were out of earshot . "It doesn't bother you at all?" he asked curiously.

Kara tilted her head. "What?"

"The fact that they're all back there, gossiping about us," he answered, shuddering. Maker only knew what kind of ideas they were getting.

She laughed. "Why should it?" she replied. "Will what they say change anything between you and I? They will say what they will say regardless, but we know the truth."

"I guess you're right," he conceded. "Still, it doesn't quite seem fair. They get to talk behind our backs, start all sorts of rumors and stories about us. Of course…" He looked at her mischievously. "Maybe we could do a little gossiping of our own."

"About what?" she asked, sounding amused.

"About _them_. I'm sure you know all their dirty little secrets by now. You certainly know all of mine," he told her, only half-joking.

Kara arched an eyebrow. "And what would you do with them, if I were to reveal these secrets?"

He did his best evil laugh. "I've got this nefarious plan to go around to each of them and secretly tell them all the nasty things you said. That way they'll mutiny and I shall become the group leader!"

"And how will your plan work now that you have revealed it to me?" she asked, eyes shining merrily. "Surely I would not tell you the truth now?"

"Oh, you've got me there!" he cried, clutching his hands to his heart dramatically. "I guess I didn't think that all the way through. But seriously though, I _am_ curious. I've had enough time to form my own opinions, and I'd like to see if yours are any different." She looked at him inquiringly, which he took as a sign of assent.

Alistair decided to start somewhere relatively safe. "Leliana, what do you think of her? Do you believe in her vision?"

Kara mused thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "I believe that she believes in her vision," she said carefully. "Such things are not unheard of in our old tales, though they do not occur often now."

"I guess that's one way of putting it," he conceded. "I don't know what to make of her. If you look at her when she doesn't see you, she just looks so…so sad. I almost feel guilty taking her away from her life."

"She chose to come with us," Kara reminded him. "Her choice and no other. Whatever her regrets, she knows why she is here and follows that purpose willingly. She would not be bound to stay with us, were she to desire otherwise."

"Yes, I know," he sighed. "Still, I feel badly for her." That was as good a segue as any to ask something that had been bothering him. "Zevran. You can't…trust him, can you? Do you believe his so-called vow?"

"I do," she said seriously. "For all his flaws, I think him to be a man who wishes to hold to his word."

"That's a lot of trust to put in someone who tried to kill you," he answered dubiously.

"I cannot explain it entirely," she admitted. "But my heart tells me that he is sincere. He seems a man looking for a new start in life." He must have made a face at that because she stopped for a moment to regard him. "You are not jealous of him, are you?"

The question caught him a little off-guard. "What? No!" he answered, but she didn't look convinced. He sometimes forgot how perceptive she could be. It came from always watching people in her quiet way, he supposed. "Okay, maybe a little bit," he admitted.

"There is nothing between Zevran and I but friendship," she reassured him. "You know that."

"Yes, I suppose I do," he said. "Maybe it's silly, I just hate the fact that he's always _flirting__. _With _everyone_. And _especially_ with you."

"I think he does not know how else to be," she replied thoughtfully. "He was raised to use other people as means to his end. He was not taught about love, affection, or friendship except that they were weaknesses. If I were to guess," she hazarded, "I would say that he is a man who wishes to make friends, but does not know how. So he resorts to all that he does know."

"Sex," Alistair supplied dryly.

"Even so," she concurred. "He does not understand the strength of friendship yet. But when he does, I think he will be a most loyal comrade. Should we not give him that chance?"

"Alright," he conceded. "I see your point. I still think he's a bit too shifty though. But enough of that. What about Sten?"

She pondered awhile before answering. "I do not think I understand Sten, or the quinari in general," she admitted. "The Dalish do not have many dealings with them, as we have as little desire to submit to the Qun as to the Chantry. But," she decided, "I have much respect for him and he is a good companion, if strange."

"Yes," Alistair mused. "The more I talk to him, the more reasonable he does seem. His philosophy is so strange, but it doesn't sound at all as vile as the Chantry describes it. And yet he killed all those people. He doesn't even deny it. Doesn't that bother you?"

"It does, some," she acknowledged. "He speaks of it frankly and yet I sense there is a type of remorse behind it."

"Hmm," he replied, thinking on that. "I'm not so sure that his regret means the same as it would for us. The quinari sense of honor is…a bit hard to grasp. For me, anyway."

"For me as well," she reassured him. "I think it will be some time before I begin to understand Sten at all."

There didn't seem to be more they could say on that subject. "Alright," he said, moving on. "Morrigan." He knew that Kara got along decently well with the witch, though Maker only knew how. He worried sometimes that she was being complacent about Morrigan, who could only be bad news as far as he was concerned. "Do you really trust her? Think about it…maybe Flemeth sent her with us for some other reason than she said."

"That is probably so," she agreed. "It seems what one should expect from the _asha'belannar_."

"And?" he challenged. "You're just going to let her follow us around? A maleficar and Maker-knows-what else?"

"Every Keeper among the Dalish is a 'maleficar', Alistair," she reminded him. "I do not share the same prejudices against mages that you do."

"You may have a point," he admitted grudgingly. "But still, you can't tell me you don't think Morrigan isn't dangerous."

"You two really do not like each other, do you?" Kara asked, amused.

"Aside from the fact that she's a complete an utter _bitch_, no," he answered. "I don't like her at all. How can you?"

"In many ways, Morrigan and I are very similar," she replied. "We are!" she insisted when he scoffed in disbelief. "We are both of us children of the wild," she explained. "Far more at home in the woods than in the trappings of what you would call civilization. And we are both often confused by the actions of those around us. Your culture is very strange at times."

"Really?" Alistair asked, surprised. "Do you find me confusing?"

"Sometimes yes," she admitted, smiling.

"Huh," he replied. "Well, anyways, I think my curiosity is sated for the moment. We should get back to it, I guess, if we want to eat for the next few days."

"No questions about Wynne?" Kara inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"What's there to talk about?" It truly hadn't even occurred to him.

She shook her head. "Your prejudices are showing again," she said, though she softened the statement with a smile. "You think that Wynne is kind and grandmotherly and you like her, therefore there is no need to talk about her."

"I guess so," he admitted. "Why, what do you think about her?"

"She is often all those things," Kara replied. "And she can be very wise. But perhaps she takes her role too seriously at times. She has much unsought and unrequired advice to give."

He'd never thought about it like that. "Maybe she just sees herself as a surrogate mother. It sounds like she did that at the Circle too."

"All mothers must let their fledglings fly someday," Kara countered. "Else they will be grounded for life and never experience the sky. Some things cannot be taught, they must simply be experienced." He had no idea what she was talking about, so he just nodded. "I do like her," Kara admitted finally. "But at times I wish she would meddle less."

"I suppose I can understand that," Alistair conceded. The terrain grew rockier around them, and for a little while, they concentrated on their footing rather than idle talking. As they went, Kara tried to point out things – signs of wildlife both suitable for hunting and not, indicators that they were approaching water and how that might affect their hunt. He tried to listen, but most of the time it went over his head. She didn't seem to mind though and just kept up the gentle instruction.

They found themselves eventually in a ravine of sorts, rock walls growing higher around them, left behind by some ancient waterway that had carved its way through stone before vanishing into time. All that was left now was a trickle of water, a shadow of its former glory.

"This is promising," Kara noted. "But we should find a place with more cover."

As they walked, she instructed him in the Dalish art of hunting. "These are the words of Andruil, Lady of the Hunt, who taught her lore to the People that we might eat of the land's bounty," she intoned.

"Hear me, sons and daughters of the People-I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Lady of the Hunt: Andruil. Remember my teachings, Remember the Vir Tanadhal: The Way of Three Trees That I have given you."

Kara pulled one of her arrows from her quiver and held it before her, the slender shaft straight and sure. "Vir Assan," she named it, speaking in measured cadences. "The Way of the Arrow. Be swift and silent; Strike true, do not waver And let not your prey suffer. That is my Way. "

Alistair remembered the story of the bear cubs, slain mercifully after their mother had been killed, so that they would not starve to death in the cold of winter without her. There was a harsh starkness in the practicality of the Dalish way. More than just a rule for the hunt, this way seemed to be a larger philosophy of life, and quite poetic as many things of the Dalish seemed to be.

Next came her father's bow, wood well-worn and yet still strong despite the years. "Vir Bor'assan," she said. "The Way of the Bow. As the sapling bends, so must you. In yielding, find resilience; In pliancy, find strength. That is my Way."

"Vir Adahlen," she said, waving an arm to indicate the world about them. "The Way of the Wood. Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn. That is my Way."

"Remember the Ways of the Hunter And I shall be with you," she concluded.

He contemplated it in silence for a little while. "You know," he said finally, "I wish more people took the time to really know the Dalish. I think there'd be a lot less fear and a lot more respect." She smiled appreciatively in response. "Can I ask a silly question though? Why 'Three Trees'?"

"It is not as silly as you might think," she reassured him. "I asked Keeper Marethari the same thing when she first told me of the Vir Tanadahl. Arrow, bow," she said, naming the objects as she held them aloft in her hands. "Both gifts of the larger woods, which also shelter the animals that we hunt. Three ways in which the trees provide for the People. In this way Andruil asks that we be mindful of all that is given to us, at many levels, from the tiny arrow to the forest about us. One small arrow might feed the clan, but not without the bow and the woods as well. All three are intertwined, and the hunt fails without even one."

"Hmm, yes, I see," he replied, reflecting on that.

"Even more," she continued, "Andruil teaches us about life. Bows, arrows, the land, they all seem very different from each other. Each has its own purpose, its own mission, yet we depend on all three to work in harmony. Thus we depend on each other – be we Keeper, hunter, tend the halla, or elsewise work for the good of the People."

"Or elf and human?" he hazarded.

She thought about that for a moment. "I think there are many both in the Dalish and amongst the humans who would say not. But I also think that you are right. We must learn to live together in peace."

The answer gave him courage to reach out and take her hand into his own. That she didn't pull away set his heart racing, like it always did when she was near. That she even moved a bit closer, enough to lean into him a little, he had no idea what to do with that; he only knew that he liked it very, very much. They walked like that for a little, hand in hand, when Kara froze next to him.

"What is it?" he started to ask, when she shoved him towards the canyon wall, taking shelter with him behind an outcropping in the rock. Before he could ask what was going on, the murmur of sound that he had barely registered grew louder, heralding the thunder of hooves through the canyon as several dozen creatures careened through the gorge. He might have called them sheep of some sort if he'd been inclined to do anything but not get trampled by them.

He twisted around to put himself between Kara and the stampede, hoping that the shield slung across his back would safeguard them from the worst. Fortunately, the outcropping they had sheltered behind seemed to funnel the animals away. He waited until the clatter of hooves on stone faded before daring to breathe again. He looked down at Kara, to make some witty comment or something, only to realize how very near she was and how he had her pinned up against the canyon wall, their bodies pressed together.

"Andraste's flaming sword," he muttered under his breath, taking an immediate step backwards to put some space between them. It wasn't that he didn't like being close to her; no, it was quite the opposite. He didn't know what to do with the way he reacted to how much he liked being near her, on a number of levels. He was sure that he was blushing furiously. He knew without a doubt there were all sorts of other reactions, a racing heart being the least of them. It was _embarrassing_. At least he wasn't the only one…she was most definitely blushing a bit too.

Alistair scrubbed a dusty hand through his hair. "I…I'm sorry." He stopped talking when he realized she wasn't paying attention to him, though she was clearly listening to _something_. "What is it?"

She raised one hand to forestall more questions, eyes narrowed as if she were thinking hard, trying to place something that was eluding her. So it wasn't any great surprise to him when her eyes widened with sudden realization and she glanced around the canyon walls. "We must get out of here," she said urgently, grabbing his hand and pulling him along as she ran following the stampede's wake.

He wanted to ask what, or why, but his breath seemed better put to keeping up with the running. She kept her eyes on the cliffs around them until she found what she was looking for, pulling him after. One part of the rock wall was lower than the rest, almost within reach. "Get me up," she ordered. When he hesitated, she snapped at him. "We _have_ to get out of here. _Now_, Alistair!"

This time, he obeyed without pause, stirruping his hands to boost her up to the top, where she disappeared in a flash. Moments later a rope dropped down, and this time, he could hear _something_. A rumbling roar, distant but rapidly rising in volume. He reached for the rope as a wall of water turned the corner towards them. It moved more quickly than he could ever have imagined. He climbed, hoping that Kara had found some way to set the rope against his weight. His relief knew no bounds when the rope held and he clambered up faster than he ever had in his life. Even so, the water soaked his boots before Kara hauled him over the top.

They both sat watching the devastation in silent horror while the waters died away, carrying everything left in the canyon with it. And then the torrent was just gone, like it had never been, leaving a river in their wake where a tiny stream had been. They stared at each other in mutual disbelief and backed away from the gorge. When at last they reached a grassy knoll, the adrenaline drained out of his body like the waters and he collapsed onto the grass to lie gasping for breaths he hadn't known he hadn't taken.

He heard the soft thud as Kara laid out next to them, and then he was laughing, more than a bit hysterically and she was laughing with him. Eventually he propped himself up on one elbow. "I'm not saying we should do that again…but wow." She nodded weakly, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"What was that thing?" he asked, more seriously.

She thought a moment before answering. "I have never actually seen one myself, but as usual, there are tales." She turned her head to smile at him, and he understood. The Dalish seemed to have tales for everything. "A, ah, quick flood, the elder called it?"

"Flash flood?" he supplied.

She nodded in response. "Sometimes the waters come down from the mountains. A storm, or a winter melt. It comes suddenly, takes all in its path."

That described it pretty much exactly. "How did you know? I had no idea it was coming."

"Nor did I," she answered simply. "But the animals did."

"But you figured it out," he insisted. "You got us out of there in time. You're incredible." And then, because she simply looked too lovely in the warm sunlight with her cheeks still flushed with exhilaration and eyes lit with laughter, he leaned over and kissed her. Not the shy brush of lips they had shared in the woods outside the Dalish camp, but something bolder and more daring, stemming from a sure (or at least surer) knowledge of his standing with her and all that that brought about inside him.

It might have lasted forever, or led to something more, if she had not eventually pulled away, turning her head aside a bit shyly. Alistair understood; he was still learning how differently the Dalish expressed affection sometimes. By her own admittance, she wasn't entirely Dalish anymore; still, it was how she had been raised and all she knew.

"I'm sorry," she said, hesitation in her voice and something like a touch of fear in her eyes. "I just…"

"It's okay, I understand," he reassured her. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you're not comfortable with." She responded with a smile, and by reaching out to entwine her fingers with his own. He laid back into the grass to bask in the sunlight next to her, all still right with his world.

When she spoke again, it was still tentatively. "Alistair…" she began falteringly, "I should apologize, about what I said before."

"Before when?" he asked, confused.

She fidgeted a little. "At your…sister's." She hesitated before the word like she wasn't sure if she really wanted to give Goldanna that title. He couldn't blame her; he wasn't sure either.

"Ah, that. There's no need to apologize," he told her. "In fact, I'm beginning to think you were right. I do need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me. I need to take a stand and stop letting others order me around, or I'm never going to be happy."

"Are you certain? You're not angry?" She still sounded doubtful, so he gave her hand a little squeeze of reassurance.

"I'm sure," he replied. "What you said made sense. You were right. I should be looking out for myself more, and I'm going to start doing exactly that."

She sighed. "I only wish for you to be happy. You deserve that."

"I am happy," he told her earnestly. "Being with you has made me happier than I ever thought I could be."

She turned a bit to meet his eyes and smiled shyly. "And you, I."

He knew they could have stayed there all afternoon like that, but they _were_ supposed to be on task. "We're, ah, supposed to be hunting, right? Maybe we should get back to it."

"Yes, perhaps we should," she laughed, which told him she was just as prone to being lost in the spell of _together_ as he was. She pushed herself up and looked around, studying the terrain about them.

"Anything interesting?" he asked as he pushed himself up.

She nodded. "Andruil favors us today, it seems. The herd seems to have utilized the same path out of the canyon that we did, and one seems to have gone lame in the stampede."

He looked at her incredulously. "How can you possibly know that?"

She laughed merrily at him. "Many ways. There are tracks, other signs. The poor thing is also just over there." He looked where she was pointing, and sure enough, one of the wooly creatures was a little ways off, clearly unable to use one of its hind limbs.

Kara freed and strung her bow and pulled out an arrow. "'Be swift and silent; Strike true, do not waver And let not your prey suffer,'" she quoted softly as she drew her bow. A heartbeat later, the missile was in flight.

It flew straight and true, and missed when a tawny thunderbolt wrestled the arrow's intended target to the ground. They stared in amazement as the mountain cat growled angrily at them over its meal.

"I think maybe we should leave it to its dinner," Alistair said carefully. Beside him, Kara nodded. He pushed himself up to his feet and offered her a hand. As he pulled her up, she inhaled sharply, one knee caving under her. He was on his own knees next to her in a second. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She grimaced. "Nothing. It is nothing," she said, pushing his fretful hands away. "My ankle, I must have twisted it when we fled." She sighed in disgust. "And I am supposed to be a mighty hunter and Grey Warden?"

He chuckled. "Well, you are those things. But you're also only human. Or…elven, anyways." He started to gather her into his arms, then thought better of it, and extended a hand to her again instead, pulling her to her feet. "You're not invincible."

"Clearly not," she grumbled, steadying herself against him.

"Well, what now?" he asked her.

She sighed again. "I suppose we return to camp. We will certainly not catch anything like this."

"Right," he said. Then somewhat sheepishly, he asked "Um, which direction is it again? I think I got a bit turned around in the canyon." Laughing, she pointed the way. "See, this is why you lead, and I don't," he told her. "Bad things happen when I lead!"

They made their way limping back to camp, following alongside the gorge they had originally walked through. Eventually their path intersected a wide bend in a placid river, and Kara insisted they stop. Since the afternoon was growing hot, Alistair was more than happy to agree. He followed suit as she pulled her boots off to dangle feet in the cool water. She hissed a bit when her visibly swollen ankle dipped under the water's surface, then her eyes closed in bliss as she leaned back against him.

Eventually she reached for her bag again. "If we are planning to sit here awhile, we can at least go fishing," she said philosophically. After some rummaging she pulled forth some fine line to which she attached a simple hook. She baited the hook, wound a twig into the line, and cast it out into the water where the twig bobbed gently in the slow current, winding the rest of the line around her hand. "Perhaps we can still bring something back to camp with us."

He marveled at how she always knew what to do, always seemed to have exactly what was necessary for the job at hand. There was so much he…loved about this woman. Could he really use that word to describe what he felt? It seemed premature since they had only known each other for a few months, and called each other something beyond "friend" for less than that. But even so, it felt like it was at least approaching the right word. "Like" was far too weak a term for what he felt now.

She turned her head to look up at him, perhaps curious of his silence. He leaned down and caught her up in another kiss, trying to express all that he felt that words could not describe. Kara laughed into his mouth for a moment, caught off guard, before she returned the kiss. And he knew, just like that, that she understood, at least a little, and that she was trying to express something similar.

This time when she broke off it was with a little gasp of surprise. She turned her attention back to the river water, where her twig had plunged beneath the surface, jerking the line around her hand in the process. Hand over hand she pulled it in, fighting against whatever was on the other end. He thought to offer his help, but she was skillfully drawing their quarry in, loosing and tugging in the line on cues he couldn't identify. All he could offer was brawn, and he wasn't going to demean her by thinking she needed that.

Without warning, Kara went stiff against him. "Cut the line," she told him in a frightened, strangled voice.

"What?" he asked, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Just cut the line," she insisted, pulling her feet away from the water's edge. Curious, he took the line from her and pulled in the slack, trying to get a glimpse at what was hooked on the other end.

"A turtle?" he burst out laughing. "You're afraid of a little turtle?" Well, it wasn't exactly a _little_ turtle, but it wasn't that large either. And it was certainly nothing compared to hurlocks and ogres!

"They are horrid creatures!" she exclaimed indignantly. "And very dangerous! My finger was nearly taken off by one."

Alistair couldn't stop laughing, though he knew he was probably going to get hit for it. "And how old were you?"

She crossed her arms as though she were going to refuse to answer, but mumbled, "Ten winters." Then she pulled her glove off her hand to show him where he could indeed see the thin line of a scar still encircling one finger. "Had it not been for the Keeper, I would be one finger less."

He took her hand and pressed her finger to his lips. "Well, I'm glad the Keeper was there," he chuckled. "So what do we do with this one then?" he asked her. "Can you eat turtles?"

"You can," she answered dubiously, "but they are not very appetizing."

Alistair shrugged. "It's up to you. But we haven't caught anything else. You know what they're going to say if we come back empty-handed. Besides, what was it your way said? Something about being mindful of the gift of the hunt?"

She sighed. "If we are bringing that back with us, then _you_ are carrying it."

"Alright, alright," he agreed with a laugh. Under Kara's instruction, he pulled the turtle onto the riverbank and dispatched it with his sword, while she stood a good ways away. And true to her word, she kept her distance from the sack he carried it in all the way back to the camp, proclaiming that her ankle no longer hurt and that she could walk fine on her own. In all honesty, he found it rather amusing and endearing that she would go to such lengths to avoid even a dead turtle.

She finally joined his side again at dinner, over a soup made with their turtle – which, as she said, was edible but only just. They endured the expected teasing of their companions, somewhat ameliorated by the fact that Morrigan had come back empty-handed entirely. Alistair found their mocking banter far easier to bear this time though, with Kara nestled at his side and their hands clasped together, despite all the eyes that could see.

The Blight might be raging around them, but there were always brief, fleeting days like this, together, that made it seem almost worth it.

-~0~-

"They sound so wonderful together," Lenaire sighed happily.

"Yes," Merrill replied with a smile. "They do."

"And did they love each other?" the girl asked.

"I believe they did, very much," Merrill told her. "I think it was their love that saw them through much of the Blight, and helped them to keep fighting. Love often seems to provide us strength when our own is gone." Lenaire considered that for a time. "But come, my dear," Merrill told her, "it is past time for you to be in bed. Daron, will you escort her back?" Her grandson nodded and took the human girl by the hand to lead her away.

Merrill watched them as they disappeared into the night beyond the firelight. It was a good place to end. The stories to come were dark, and not for the ears of the little ones.


	17. Dark Roads to Tread Part I

_A/N: If you've made it this far with me, THANK YOU so much! It is still fairly mind-boggling to me that anyone would want to read something I've written!_

_With that said, here is the next chapter! You can thank my lovely and wonderful beta, SurelyForth for the longer chapter as she encouraged me to go ahead and put this all out there._

_As Merrill has said, these next sections are going to be dark. In keeping with the atmosphere of Dragon Age: Origins and the treatment of elves in general in Ferelden, this chapter has warnings for sexual assault and death, though not in any graphic depiction._

_Some dialogue liberally borrowed from in game, so all credit for that goes to the amazing Bioware writers - and with that, the chapter!_

Kara wiped tainted blood from her blades and tried to order her hands to stop shaking. It didn't work. She hated everything about the Deep Roads and the endless fools' errands they had been sent on, trying to prove their loyalty to dwarves whose own loyalty was suspect. She didn't like caves. It wasn't natural to be so sealed away from the world, above, below, and all around stone. Bad things happened in these trapped spaces. Tamlen had been taken from her and her life forever changed in a place like this.

She missed the night sky and the bright sun, the smell of fresh air. Down here, there was nothing but dust, and darkspawn. Everywhere there were darkspawn, like she was going to drown in their taint. It covered everything, masked all with shadow, until she doubted she would ever see light again. Kara wiped sweat from her brow, wishing she could pretend it was just from exertion and the warmth of the Deep Roads. In the world above, winter was raging, but she would rather have faced a blizzard than be here a moment longer.

They had travelled for…she didn't know how long, to find Caridin's Cross, from there to strike out a path to Ortan Thaig in search of the missing Paragon, Branka. Harrowmont's maps had gotten them this far, but now the way was their own to forge. Not that she was of any aid in the venture – her normally keen sense of direction and her tracking skills seemed quite useless here in the depths.

They depended entirely on the say of Oghren, the drunken dwarf warrior who had forced himself into their group on the way from Orzammar. He did very little to inspire her confidence, but what choice did they have? As poor as their chances were now, they were infinitely worse without the dwarf. None of Harrowmont's men had offered to accompany them, which underscored more than anything else what a hopeless mission they had been given. The odds were that they would perish in this Creators-forsaken wasteland, away from all that was good and right in the world. It was almost more than she could bear.

"Kara?" Alistair's voice. The one thing that had a steadying effect here in a darkness that was as much of the spirit as of the physical world, but even the full measure of that comfort was denied her. Alistair and all of her companions still looked to her to lead, still needed her to be strong and confident and sure. More and more, she felt the fraud.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and she had to consciously force herself not to jump. "Kara?" he repeated, and she could hear concern in his voice. "Is everything alright?"

She pushed herself to her feet, away from his touch, and sheathed her blades. "Yes, I'm fine," she answered. The lie sounded flat in her own ears, but he seemed appeased, at least for now.

"Are you sure, my dear Grey Warden?" interjected Zevran. "Perhaps it is merely the light, but you seem quite pale."

"Truly, Zevran," she told him. The assassin looked unconvinced, but at least he didn't press the issue further. One by one they filed past her, her companions. Oghren and Wynne, Leliana, Morrigan, Zevran and Anari. Shale, the strange stone golem they had discovered in Honnleath as they travelled to Orzammar. Alistair.

He caught her elbow as he walked by, the two of them lagging behind the rest. It was safe, for now. Alistair's Warden senses said they had some space before the next group of darkspawn. Hers, oversensitive to start with, were completely overwhelmed by all the taint around them. Useless in these depths, like the rest of her. "Kara?" He kept his voice quiet, trying not to attract the others' attention. "Everything's not fine. Talk to me."

She wanted nothing more than for him to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be alright, that they could leave this awful place and go back where there was light. But they had a mission to accomplish and a treaty to gain. They needed her to be in control, to be strong. He needed her to be strong. So instead of asking for his comfort and protection like she longed to, she kept him at arm's length, and lied again. "I just…have not slept well." It was a lie of omission, though that was bad enough.

He laid one hand upon her cheek, studying her face in the dying light of the mages' staves as they moved further away. She wondered if he could see the fear in her eyes, but if he did, he let it pass without comment. "I know the nightmares have been bad…" he said softly, then pulled her in for a brief embrace. "I wish there was something I could do."

She rested her head against his chest for a few moments, breathing in the smell of him and taking in his nearness, even through his armor, drawing what strength she could from his presence. Then she gently pushed him away. "Come, we must go." She took his hand and led him back towards the others before he could inquire further. He couldn't know just how close she was to falling apart. Where would they be then?

Oghren stood waiting for them at a passageway that looked like any other to her. "This looks like the right way out," he said, sounding surprisingly confident for someone who appeared to spend almost all his time staggering drunk. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Ortan Thaig. It won't be long now."

In another day and age, she might have questioned the dwarf, how he had any idea that this was the right way out or if he was just leading them astray. It was her duty, after all, to see them safely through on this journey. But today, it was enough to have some hope that this ordeal might be over all the sooner for being near the thaig that Branka had been searching for. Hearing anything to the contrary might be more than she could endure right now.

So she let Oghren and Alistair take point while she stayed back, ostensibly to guard the rear. In reality, she did her best to hide away so none of them could see how close to breaking she really was.

-~0~-

There were fewer darkspawn here in this sprawling dead city that Oghren named Ortan thaig. That should have been a relief, an oasis in the sea of foul that was the Deep Roads, but even the creatures here were polluted with the taint. This place crawled with it, even the very walls. There was no escaping it.

They were chasing after a dwarf, a strange one they had caught here in the city. That seemed unlikely, given how dangerous it was to live in the Deep Roads, especially alone. He might be part of Branka's clan, house, whatever it was that the durgen'len called them. Or he could just be some poor lost soul like the rest of them. That seemed as likely as any.

He frightened her though. Even as saturated as her senses were, Kara could still feel the darkness in him. He was clearly insane. Was that the result of his time living here, alone, in the Deep Roads? Or was it the inevitable result of too much taint, the same of which was already flowing through her veins? Even now, she felt more than a little mad.

And she had not missed the disgust, the pity amongst her companions for the dwarf's fate. What would they say if they knew about the Grey Wardens' sacrifice, what it was that made Alistair and her effective weapons against the Blight? Would they be sympathetic, understanding, sorrowful? Or would they turn against them with revulsion, repulsion, hatred?

They had to be nearing the dwarf's hiding spot. There was light ahead that was not their own, something other than the light of mages' staves. They turned the corner and there he was, cringing and cowering away from them. "There's nothing for you here!" he raved. "It's mine! I've claimed it!"

The rest looked to her. They always looked to her to lead. She took a deep breath and took a few cautious steps towards him. "Who are you?" she asked gently.

He turned on her, madness clear in his eyes. "You've come to take my claim!" he seethed. "You surfacers are all alike; thieving scoundrels! Well, I found it first!"

"Found it? The Anvil?" she repeated, trying to make sense of his ranting. "Were you of Branka's clan?"

"The clan?" he echoed. "No. But it's still mine. Ruck's been here for years now, and no shiny surfacer will take him away!"

Was this what she would be like some day? "Your name is Ruck?" she said, trying to regain his attention.

"Yes, Ruck's my name," he said eagerly, bobbing his head up and down in agreement, demeanor suddenly changed. "I do not hear it much, so sometimes I like to speak it out loud. Ruck! Ruck! Ruck!" After a moment the dwarf calmed and looked closely at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "Ruck not pretty name, not pretty like lady. Ruck is small and ugly and twisted."

His interest was more disturbing than the madness. She swallowed hard against the unease. His name seemed familiar, so she focused on that instead. "Ruck…Are you from Orzammar? We met a woman who was searching for her son, lost in the Deep Roads. Filda, she called herself?"

He backed away quickly, the reaction surprising her. "N-n-n-no!" He screamed. "No Filda. No mother. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories. No-no-no-no-no…"

Kara was at a loss as the mad dwarf continued muttering to himself. "Ruck?" she ventured, but the dwarf paid her no mind. "May I ask you another question? We will not talk about your mother, if that is what you wish."

At that, he bobbed his head agreeably again, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "I will answer your questions, pretty lady. Anything you wish, only not the mother."

"How long have you been here?" she asked him. It was an important question. How long did she and Alistair have before the taint drove them so mad?

"Err…me thinks…years. Yes, yes, five times years, maybe?" The dwarf bobbed his head again, this time in discomfort and uncertainty. Five years. So long and yet so short. But Wardens were supposed to have thirty years to their lives. Unless the Deep Roads stripped even that small time away.

"How did you survive down here?" Alistair asked, speaking up from behind as he came closer to stand at her side. She felt somewhat better for having him near, though it was probably irrational to think that Ruck could harm her in any way even if he wanted to.

Ruck cringed away from them again. "When the dark ones were here, I kept to the shadows. They don't look in the shadows, not if you're quiet. Not if you eat their flesh." Or drank their blood. Kara shivered. "Then the dark ones think you're one of them. They leave you alone. But now they're gone," he finished.

"Where are these 'dark ones' now, Ruck?" she asked. "Did dwarves chase them away?"

"I thinks they went south, pretty lady," he answered eagerly. "Far, far to the south. That is where the dark master calls them with his beautiful voice. So much joy when he awoke!"

"He's talking about the archdemon, huh?" Oghren interjected. Kara traded glances with Alistair. At least neither of them could hear the song yet. Even with the nightmares, she didn't hear the archdemon's voice like she had in the Korcari Wilds, before her Joining. That was a "gift" that would come with time, Alistair said. It was a gift she never wanted to receive.

"After the dark master awoke, he called his children and they all went," Ruck continued. "I wanted to go, too, and gaze upon his beauty…but Ruck, no, no, Ruck…Ruck is a coward." He hung his head in shame.

"Were there other dwarves here, Ruck?" Kara questioned him. "When you arrived, before the dark ones?"

"Nah," Oghren said. "Branka's only been gone two years. This blighter's been in the Deep Roads longer than that."

"No, no," Ruck answered, shifting around nervously. "Ruck came when other dwarves went away. Ruck not want to see other dwarves. Dwarves might make Ruck go back, not want to go back into the light."

"You do not wish to go back?" came Leliana's voice, her confusion clear. After all, who would want to live here amidst tainted spiders, alone?

The twisted, mad dwarf shrank back. "Ruck cannot, no, no…And once you eat…once you takes in the darkness…you not miss the light so much." He peered at Kara, his gaze disconcertingly fixated again. "You know, do you not?" he told her. "Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you."

She shivered under his scrutiny. Alistair must have sensed her discomfort as he practically bristled next to her. "We're Grey Wardens," he said pointedly. "It's not the same."

"Grey like the stone," Ruck said agreeably. "Guardian against the darkness. Beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen," he finished, setting his eyes on Kara again. She fought against the urge to hide behind Alistair, to flee those mad eyes.

"Was this Branka's camp?" she asked him instead, working up what courage she had left. "Did you find anything of her's here?"

"Bits of things, but only bits," he answered, wringing his hands. "The crawlers took almost everything. They takes things of steel and things of paper. They takes the shinies and the words."

"Paper and words?" The interest was clear in Oghren's voice. "That sounds like someone was taking notes. Maybe Branka!"

Ruck took no notice of the interruption, continuing to ramble. "They bring to the great nest, the nest they makes for the eggs. They puts the shinies inside, they do."

"Their nest?" Leliana repeated, dismayed. "We will have to find the spiders' nest?" No one seemed very thrilled by the prospect, but giant tainted spiders were the stuff that even most peoples' nightmares couldn't imagine.

Kara sighed. "We are agreed then? We know what we must do?" There were solemn nods all around.

Oghren shook his head in disgust. "Enjoy your tainted mud, you poor sodding duster."

Ruck bobbed his head up and down, anxious and confused. "Then…I have done what you wished? Ruck answered your questions?"

"Yes Ruck," she told the pathetic creature. "You did well, and you have our thanks. But now, we must leave."

The twisted creature bobbed his head again, wringing his hands, looking away. "The pretty lady is so nice to Ruck. I will stay here and imagine I smell your hair. Such a nice memory..." This time she couldn't help the reflexive step back when he made as though to reach for her, to touch her hair in actuality. It didn't seem to bother Ruck though, who looked up at her hopefully. "You…are not gone long, pretty lady?"

There was no doubt that she had no desire to ever return here again, or even spend another moment in the crazed dwarf's presence, but she hesitated before she answered him. "Ruck, are you certain you do not wish to go back to Orzammar? To your mother?"

His reaction was just as violent as before. "No, no, no!" he cried. "She remembers a boy, a little boy, with bright eyes and a hammer and she _cannot_ see this! Swear-promise-vow you won't tell!"

"What then?" she asked him. "She longs to know your fate."

"No!" he wailed. "She cannot…"

"Would you have her think you dead?" Leliana asked.

Ruck seized on that. "Yes! Yes!" The answer took the bard aback. "T-tell the mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again. Yes, that's what Ruck is. Dead. Dead like bones that turn to dust when you touch them."

Morrigan sniffed. "He is plainly beyond help. 'Twould be cruel to tell his mother what truly became of him."

Much though she hated to admit it, Kara knew that Morrigan was right. The child that Filda had loved was in truth dead and in his place was a mad creature. She nodded. "She will believe you dead, Ruck. She will not know."

The poor, twisted dwarf bobbed his head gratefully. "Pretty lady is like Mother, yes. Too good, too pretty for the darkness." But of course Kara knew all too well that the taint had no regard for beauty or goodness or fairness. It would steal all away and bury it in endless, pitch-black night until there was nothing left. The Blight would engulf everything unless they stopped it. It would do so even if they stopped it. Even if they triumphed against today's Blight, ultimately she, and Alistair, would lose to the taint. It was a sad, sobering thought.

That thought occupied her mind as they left Ruck's claim behind. It was all so unfair, that they would spend their days, their years fighting against the darkspawn and their taint only to succumb without fail in the end. And even after their struggle, they would not end the darkspawn threat, even for a short while. The horde would go on and likely would not even notice their life or their death. It wasn't fair at all and if she could have raged against their fate, she might have. But fair or not, they had a duty. And defeating this Blight could make a real difference, at least for now. She fixed that thought in her mind to ward off despair.

So distracted was she as they made their way across a stone bridge that she did not notice their attackers until it was almost too late. They fell from the cavern ceiling, giant silent bodies made more eerie by the lack of noise except for the skittering of their legs. Kara found herself bowled over and pinned against the rock floor under a forest of spiny legs with no way to protect herself from the spider's gaping jaws. A dull thud overhead announced Alistair, coming to her rescue as always. He shoved the tainted creature away using his shield as a battering ram, allowing Leliana to come behind and pull her to her feet.

Kara took a moment to steel herself, thanking the bard briefly before pulling free her sword and dagger to leap into the fray. The twisted, tainted creatures fought back viciously, but with the element of surprise past their remaining advantages soon dissipated in the face of the experienced band of warriors.

"Heh heh, watch this," she heard Oghren say eagerly behind her, as she ran her blade through another of the monstrous spiders, its fangs flaring angrily in its death throes.

"Oghren, wait!" Zevran tried to interject, but the dwarf was already in motion, swinging his axe into the spider with a grunt. Rather than pierce the tainted monster's tough hide, however, the creature leapt to the side, directly into Kara.

Caught off-guard by the impact, she staggered, propelled by the spider's momentum over the bridge's railing. By pure instinct she grabbed desperately for the edge before she went over entirely, but the creature's weight still threatened to pull her grip free. It scrabbled violently, razor-sharp legs slicing through her pack and into her arms and back as it sought to climb up to safety. It was becoming harder and harder to cling to the railing and she felt her fingers slipping.

"Kara!" Just as her own grip failed at last, she felt Alistair's strong hands grab her own, though he strained against her own weight and that of the spider's to pull her up. Zevran's hands flashed down, keen dagger slicing through the straps of her pack even as Leliana leaned over, bow in hand to fire point blank into the spider's head. The weight of the dead creature fell away, legs still tangled in the remnants of her pack and Alistair was able to pull her back over the edge.

They landed together in a tangled heap on the ground. Alistair pulled her into his arms in a fierce embrace, where she could hear his heart pounding as hard as her own and it didn't matter to her that she couldn't breathe or that his armor hurt where it met the slashes across her back. He was safety and she was safe with him.

"Maker's breath," he whispered hoarsely. "That was too close." He put her at arm's length after a moment to study her face carefully. "Are you okay?"

She nodded numbly, unable to hide the fact that she was shivering violently now that she had time to consider how close she had been to the end. Alistair pulled her close again and she allowed him to support her, her strength draining out as the adrenaline bled away. Wynne's hands were on her back and shoulders, healing magic easing the pain to a dull ache.

Everything was alright again. But even with Alistair's arms around her in a protective embrace, she couldn't shake the feeling of dark, tainted claws crawling across her skin.

-~0~-

Alistair leaned back with a tired sigh and loosened his armor a little bit more. It was a relief to be able to relax for awhile after being constantly on guard for so long, what with tainted spiders falling from the ceiling at random points and all. But they had found a temporary haven here, just a crack in the wall that they had fortuitously discovered. Further exploration had shown that it opened up into a reasonably sized cavern that even had the luxury of a tiny, secluded pool of water at the end of a tunnel in the back. Oghren had dipped a finger in, tasted it, belched, and proclaimed it safe. Though Alistair was fairly certain that the Oghren could imbibe things that would prove toxic to most other organisms, and did so regularly, they had to take the dwarf at his word.

By mutual accord, the group had stopped in this tiny oasis, and since his Warden senses suggested that there were no darkspawn patrols nearby, their stay looked to be long enough for everyone to get some rest. Even better, there seemed to be time for everyone to get clean, and with some _privacy_. Even camp wasn't this bad, since you could always find some bushes or trees to hide behind, or wander off the path a little. Now they were together, all the time, and there were only a few of his companions that he liked enough for that. Not to mention the fact that the dwarf _smelled_. Especially up close.

"Alistair?" He looked up as Leliana approached. "Kara has been back there for some time now. Do you think she is alright?"

Ordinarily, he would have simply said yes, trusting in his fellow Warden's remarkable resilience and strength. But she had been acting more and more strangely the deeper they had gone into the Deep Roads, and she had become increasingly distant from him. He was worried about her, but he didn't know what to do about it. What could he do if she wouldn't talk to him, no matter how much he asked?

"Perhaps she is merely…waiting, for someone?" Zevran added with that saucy wink and smile of his that Alistair hated so much. "How long has it been since you two had any alone time for a little fun, hmm?"

As much as he hated it, he felt himself flushing furiously. Zevran, of course, took great pleasure in that. "Oho!" he chortled. "Are we to take these blushing cheeks as a sign that you have not yet, indeed…"

"Bucked the bronto?" Oghren supplied with a snicker. "Buffed the…ow!" He rubbed the back of his head where Wynne had hit him with her staff. "Whatcha do that for?"

"Never mind them," Wynne told Alistair firmly. "But as crude as he might be, Zevran may be right. Something is wrong, Alistair. You should talk to her."

"But I can't go back there!" he protested. "She might be…" If he said "naked" out loud, he would start blushing again, and Zevran and Oghren would start up, and there would be no end to it.

"Alistair, I think you must," Leliana told him, glaring at the two men who were starting to snicker again. "I do not think she will talk to anyone else." He sighed, knowing she was right. "Just…make some noise before you get there," she suggested helpfully, the edges of a smile appearing.

Oghren shoved a skin of…something foul smelling at him. "Here," he sniggered. "Might grease things up, move things along…" Alistair fled down the passage before the dwarf could think of any other euphemisms.

He slowed as he neared the end of the passage though. What _was_ he going to do? Especially if she were…naked. It wasn't as though he hadn't _thought_ about it before. Not necessarily about her being naked, or not specifically that at least, but being together with her…he had never felt this way about anyone before. Sure, he had thought about it, but he had no idea how she felt about it and how did someone go about talking about something like that with someone you cared about more than anything or anyone else in the world?

He could hear the sounds of quiet sobbing before he could see her. "Kara?" There was no answer. All thoughts of wooing or anything else vanished in his concern for her. Something was indeed very wrong. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out what the cause could be. Things had changed when they had gone into the Deep Roads, he was sure about that much. She had become withdrawn and nervous. Kara always blamed it on the nightmares and being tired from a lack of sleep, and he could believe that was part of it. He wasn't even that certain that she was sleeping at all now, not after waking the group a few times when she came screaming awake. But he had no idea what the problem could be. He doubted it would be something as simple as a fear of the dark.

He found her by the pool, cavern lit softly by Morrigan's staff planted in the corner. Fully dressed, thank the Maker, though her clothing was in poor shape from the spider attack before. Her shoulders shook slightly as she cried, slumped in a defeated posture that was simply not like Kara, not like his proud, fierce Dalish warrior, at all. He tried to get her attention again. "Kara?"

Alistair reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, and though he knew she had grown increasingly agitated and tense over their time here in the dark, he was still unprepared when she startled violently, as if she hadn't know he was there at all. She had scrambled several paces away before any sort of recognition appeared in her eyes. Before any sort of sanity reappeared in her eyes. He could literally see her falling over the edge, and he didn't have a clue what to do about it. Kara was the strong one, the one who always knew what to do and how to do it, the one who could make miracles come about just by her sheer determination to see it happen.

She was falling to pieces before his eyes. She needed him to catch her, to put her back together, and he just didn't know if he could do it. As though she could see that doubt in him, she turned away from him with a small despairing cry and buried her face in her hands, curling in on herself like she wanted to hide away in shame. Though he still felt more than a little helpless, he couldn't just let her _hurt_ like that without trying to do something to fix it, even if he had no idea why.

He moved over to her and pulled her into his arms, where she sobbed brokenly against his chest. He stroked her hair and held her close and whispered all sorts of meaningless nonsense words of comfort, though he was fairly certain that she had no idea that he was even there. It helped him, at least, to think he was doing _something_ even though he had no idea what was going on_._

He waited until she cried herself out, eventually growing quiet in his arms except for the occasional hitch in her breathing. He was more than a little afraid to do anything with so many ways to take a wrong step before him, but doing nothing would have been worse. "Kara?" he asked tentatively. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Kara sniffled for a moment, then pulled away. She studied him for a moment, with a wounded vulnerability in her eyes that he had never seen before. He had thought he'd grown to know her well in these past few months, but now, all the shutters had fallen away. This was her heart, laid bare before him. She drew her legs up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them in a protective gesture. He fought against the urge to pull her close again, realizing that she needed this distance to say whatever it was that she needed to say.

He waited patiently as it was obvious that she was working up the courage to speak. She started very quietly, refusing to meet his gaze as she spoke. "When little Karaleyna was but five winters old, her clan journeyed to the Arlathven." Alistair was reminded of the Dalish camp, where she had told the story of the loss of her friend Tamlen in a similar way, as though it had happened to someone else. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what sort of childhood memory required such an impersonal retelling. Nor could he imagine what it could have to do with her troubles now, but he decided to be patient and let her speak.

"The journey had been difficult, and they had fallen a great ways behind," she continued, "and so it was decided that the clan should divide, for they thought it better that some might miss the gathering than all. Though it pained them to do so, they left behind the slowest – the youngest, the oldest, the sickly, and a few to guard them.

"Karaleyna had fallen ill with a childish ailment. It was not serious, but it was decided that she should be among those who remained behind, that she might recover the faster. Her foster mother desired to stay behind to care for the daughter of her heart, but the Keeper had hopes that she might choose another to bond with from amongst the clans, for she was still a young woman. And so she convinced her to leave Karaleyna and travel with the clan.

"Karaleyna, being young and strong, was soon recovered from her illness. Like a good daughter of the People, she helped care for those in the camp, fetching water and gathering berries and the like, children's tasks. One day, she came across a shemlen, a human, in the woods, where he did not belong." She paused for a moment, glancing at Alistair as if to see if he were offended. He motioned for her to continue.

"He talked to her and tried to offer her gifts, human sweets and such. She had been well-taught by the elders however and declined, seeking only to escape the man. When she turned him away, he went, and so she believed that all was well. Karaleyna returned to the camp, unaware that she brought disaster with her." This time, when she paused, she lowered her head down onto her knees, eyes closed. Alistair knew that emotion all too well – shame.

Kara swallowed hard and took a deep breath to steel herself before resuming her story. "Unbeknownst to her, the human man had followed behind, discovering the encampment where the remainder of the clan dwelt. They came in the night, struck suddenly, killed the watchmen as they guarded the camp. They had no interest in the elderly or adult, so they slew them all. It was the children they wanted and them they stole away, Karaleyna included. The camp they left in ruins, with none left behind save the dead."

"The children were thrown into wagons. Dark, lightless things. Though she was confused and frightened, Karaleyna did her best to comfort the little ones. Most of them were but babes, their mothers and caregivers slaughtered before their eyes just moments before. It was her duty as their clanmate to protect them, though she knew not what lay in store for them. She did not know that these men were slavers, for her clan had not yet described what humans often did to elves or what humans desired elves for, only that they were dangerous and should be avoided."

Alistair continued listening with a growing sense of dread. He wondered if it might not be better to just stop it all before she went further, but it was clear that she now needed to tell, even if he no longer wanted to hear. "They travelled for a lengthy time without pause. Karaleyna knew not how long as she could see little in her confinement. She knew only that she and the other children were tired, hungry, frightened. But it would be worse for her when they stopped."

"With no pursuit, their captors grew bored, and complacent. They were sure to grow wealthy with the children they had caught and they had done so with little loss to themselves. They decided to celebrate – with food and drink…and with one of their prizes. Little Karaleyna was the oldest of the children they had stolen away and the elders had always told her that she was a very pretty child." She looked up at him briefly, gauging whether he understood what she was saying. It broke his heart and made him sick to his stomach, but he did. "However they quickly grew displeased with their new toy."

"Because you wouldn't cry," Alistair said softly, realization dawning.

It was a few breaths before she answered. "The first night, I did," she admitted. "I was afraid, and alone, and I did not understand why they were hurting me. But then I remembered who I was. I was a child of the Dales. 'We are the last of the Elvhenan. Never again shall we submit.'" she recited quietly. "And so I promised myself that whatever they did, I would not let them win."

Had it been any other child in question, he would not have believed they could have kept that promise. But this was Kara, and he had seen her do things that most could not. She had survived the Joining and being twice tainted. She had killed an ogre near single-handedly, defeated abominations and demons to save the Circle, and spared all of Arl Eamon's family when others said it could not be done. She had ended a centuries old curse and had stolen his heart along the way. He believed she would end the Blight, because he believed she could do anything. So this? He could believe it of her as well.

"They grew angry with her and they lashed out in their frustration, growing ever more violent and depraved. But eventually they saw the damage they had done, and so they left Karaleyna for dead along an unmarked path. And thus she would have been, had Mother Mythal not watched over her in the end. The clan had returned to find their camp in ruins, and swift hunters had been sent to seek out the ones who had committed the atrocity. They found Karaleyna and whisked her back to the Keeper, who worked tirelessly to save her life."

"What happened to the slavers?" Alistair asked. He knew what he wanted to happen to them. The sick feeling in his gut was burning away in the face of growing rage at the men who would dare make this woman that he loved suffer so.

"I was not aware of anything that happened for quite some time," she told him. "But afterwards, Tamlen told me what transpired. Only a few of the hunters brought me back to the Keeper. The rest continued to track the humans; fueled by anger and vengeance they swiftly closed the distance. The humans became aware of the chase - fearing reprisal, they tried to slow their pursuers down."

"What did they do?" he prompted gently when she fell silent again. "Or do I not want to know?"

"Possibly not," she admitted. "They set fire to the wagons."

That didn't add up to him. "Why would that - ?"

"They left the children in the wagons," she explained. "The humans expected that the hunters would stop to try and save the little ones. They underestimated the practical nature of the Dalish, however. When the hunters saw that the children could not be saved, a few stayed behind while the rest went on. They slew the babes swiftly, to spare them a more painful death. The humans, unable to escape, were slaughtered to a man."

Alistair sat back, trying to wrap his head around the horror of what she had just told him. He felt more than a little foolish for having bemoaned his own upbringing now. It hadn't been perfect, but it hadn't been _this_. And she had never been anything less than sympathetic, even truly outraged at how he had been treated as a child. "Kara, I don't know what to say. I…I'm so sorry," he stammered. What could he say? _Sorry_ was so inadequate. But she shook her head to forestall him. She was not done with her tale yet.

"It was many days before Karaleyna awoke. And even then, though her body mended, she was not well. She was plagued with nightmares of the shemlen no matter how the clan tried to reassure her, and she could not bear to sleep even in the aravels of her people as she had in her life before, for they were too much like the wagons where the men had hurt her. And so it was until Tamlen, her closest childhood friend, led her out to sleep under the safety of the stars, where he guarded her as she slept.

"Even so, the clan feared that they might lose their daughter, for she continued to grow worse. They had so few children left now, and more than that, she was the child of a beloved lost Keeper. Keeper Marethari, despairing, used the old magic to try and seal the memories away, to make her forget what had happened."

"Did it work?" Alistair asked.

"In part," Kara replied. "It was impossible not to know when everyone in the clan did, but the memories were no longer so vivid. It became more something that had happened to another, while knowing it had been me. But even so, everything was different. Knowing how close they had come to losing her, the clan became overprotective. Karaleyna, in turn, tried ever harder to prove that she was no longer a child."

Things were falling into place for him now. It was why the clan had refused her adult rights after her first kill, why she had attempted her tattooing at the unheard of age of fifteen, another reason why it had been so very hard for her to leave, and for them to allow her to leave. And now she was having nightmares again, bringing all this back to the forefront.

"Beyond that," she continued, "her future was forever altered. Many among the Dalish bear a great hatred for the shemlen and all that they touch. It is as though the shems carry a plague and transmit it to all they encounter."

"But that's ridiculous!" he exclaimed. "How could they blame you for that? You were a child, it wasn't your fault!" But even as he said it, he knew. _I think I understand_, she had told him once, when he had complained about how much he hated having his whole life defined by his bastard royal blood. No, he understood all too well. Seeing the empathy in his eyes, she nodded.

"Realizing this, her dearest friend Tamlen pledged himself to her after their first kill. He swore to be her bondmate when they came of age, vowing his life to hers that she might know she did not face the future alone. She accepted gratefully, for she knew it would be rare for a man to take to himself one who had been so defiled by shems." The look she gave him this time was significant, the question clear.

Alistair stared back at her, speechless. How could she think it would matter to him? Well, it _did_ matter, but only because he cared about her. The thought that he would turn her away because of something that others had inflicted upon her as a child…it was ridiculous.

But he had waited too long in his incredulous surprise to answer, and he saw something dim in her eyes. "Please Alistair," she said, her voice tight as she turned away. "Just…leave me be. I will be alright."

He scrambled over to her side. "Kara, _no_." He grabbed her shoulder to turn her back towards him. "Kara, listen to me." When she refused to look at him, he placed one hand beneath her chin, compelling her to look up into his eyes. "How could you think this would change anything between us?" he asked her, making his voice as gentle as he could. "Kara, I _love_ you. All of you, the good and the bad. No matter what they did to you, I love you."

She frowned, unconvinced. "How could you? Why would you want to be with someone so…_tainted_?"

He took a deep breath and took a chance. "Maybe you're forgetting, but I've known you were 'tainted' almost since the moment we met."

The confusion was clear in her eyes. "But how?" she asked. "How could you have possibly known?"

"Well, I _was_ there," he reminded her. "Ostagar, Joining Cup, darkspawn blood. Sound familiar?"

She stared at him incredulously for a moment before dissolving into laughter. It was more than a little hysterical, but at least it washed the rigid tension out of her bearing. Alistair sighed in relief and pulled her close, glad beyond belief when she didn't pull away this time. He waited until she grew quiet, breathless and wiping tears from her eyes. "Better now?" he asked her.

She gave no reply at first. "It truly makes no difference to you?" she asked at last, her voice very small and quiet.

He shifted enough to look into her eyes again, still clouded with worry and doubt. Realizing there was no way to convince her with words, he did the only thing he could think of, and kissed her. Though he meant for it to simply be reassuring, even chaste, in that gesture was all the heat and longing that had been building between them these past few months. Even as her lips answered his he felt his body responding in that now familiar way.

They pulled away simultaneously and Alistair moved a pace back, putting some space between himself and the woman before him, now breathless for another reason. There was a look he couldn't quite read in her eyes again, something desperate and frightened, wild and not entirely sane. "Kara?" he ventured cautiously. "Kara, I'm sorry. We're not going to do anything you don't want to." She made no response, so he tried again. "Kara, you know I would never force you to do anything, don't you? We can take as long as you need."

She shifted to draw her knees up to her chest again in that same protective gesture from before. "Tamlen and I…we were never _together_." Alistair waited, unsure again where she was headed with the revelation. "We were well within our rights to bond. We were adults and the elders approved. But I was afraid." Her voice dropped to a shamed whisper. "I was afraid and Tamlen was patient. We were both so young. I always believed we had time, and now he's _gone_."

"Kara…" He reached a hand out to her, but pulled it back at her look.

"I loved Tamlen," she admitted softly. "He was my closest and truest friend. But what I feel for you…it is so much _more_."

He couldn't deny that he was pleased with the admission. But he still wasn't sure what she needed out of all of this. And there were still things he didn't understand. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but how can you even consider it?" he asked. "Loving a human, after what they did to you?"

The smile she offered in response was sad, ironic. "The Keeper had seen what hatred could do," she replied. So had they. Zathrian had nearly destroyed his whole clan out of hatred for what the humans had done to his children. "She determined that the same would not happen to me. She did not want my heart to be eaten with vengeance. 'Revenge is plunging your dagger into your own heart in hopes that your enemy will die of the wound,' she would often tell me."

She laid her head back on her knees with a sigh. "Keeper Marethari took pains to remind me often that there was good and evil among elves and humans alike. Perhaps I was naïve, but I believed her. I would not, could not have gone with Duncan had I not."

"I'm glad you did," he told her simply. Despite all the pain and horror they had gone through together since Ostagar, he was glad that she had been by his side for it all.

"I am _afraid_, Alistair," she told him, despair in her voice and in her eyes again. "All I feel is the taint all around, crawling over my skin and yet it is not the darkspawn but their hands that I feel, all over again. They blend together in my nightmares and I cannot bear it, Alistair, I cannot _bear_ it!" And underlying that was a question that she dared not speak but that he heard anyways. What kind of Grey Warden was so overwhelmed by the taint that she could not face the darkspawn? He didn't know how to answer her.

"Please, Alistair," she whispered. "I do not want to be _afraid_ any longer." She was asking him to help her face her fears, but how could he? This wasn't the way their first night together should be. It was supposed to be something beautiful, somewhere special, somewhere perfect, not here in the Deep Roads amidst the spiders and the taint. This wasn't how he'd dreamed it would be, and he could admit that lately, he'd dreamed of it often. But if this was truly what she needed, how could he deny her that? Did it matter, as long as it was her? He didn't know how else to offer her the help she clearly needed.

He moved forward to close the short distance between them and took her hands into his. "Kara, are you sure? Is this really what you want?" Her answer was a mute plea for him to do something, anything, to take this all away. She needed him to make everything better, and Maker only knew he had no idea how. What if he made the wrong choice?

But he had to do something; she needed him to make a choice for both of them. It scared him half to death – this was why he shouldn't be allowed to lead. But foolish or not, she trusted him, and she was asking him to take a leap for her. He cradled her face with one hand again, running a thumb along her cheek to clear away some of the tears. "If this is what you really need, I'll do it," he told her finally.

Her answer was to move into him, to meet his lips with a desperate intensity that left no question to her wishes. With few options left to him, he relented to her desire. It was far from what he had wanted for them, but it was all they had, and in the end, maybe it had to be enough.


	18. Dark Roads to Tread Part II

_Hello all you wonderful readers! Thank you so much for being so patient with me - new job, new city and all that stuff, so its taking longer to write than I would like, but I am still going and this story will get finished! So many thanks again for reading and for the amazing reviews, they are very much appreciated. As always, much love to SurelyForth for reading this over and over again for me._

Something niggled him awake, a nagging sensation on the edge of his perception. Darkspawn. Not close, but not far enough for his liking, either. They would need to take a group out intercept the patrol, take the darkspawn out before they got too far or met up with a larger group.

He shifted to rise…and encountered skin. Bare skin against his own, a nude body against his similarly unclad form. His shifted through panic to confusion before finally remembering the previous night's events, if you could figure out what night and day was down here, at least. All the awful things Kara had told him about her childhood, and then what they had done together.

It had been nothing like he had expected, or dreamed of. He had always thought it would be exhilarating, thrilling, special. It was supposed to have been perfect. He'd wanted it to be perfect for her, for them. It wasn't supposed to have been so desperate, so full of frantic clutching even when he tried to pull away or slow for fear of hurting her. And he had never, ever thought it would end with her weeping again as he held her, though whether it was in relief or disappointment or a continuation of her earlier breakdown, he couldn't say.

She slept fitfully now in his arms, shifting restlessly in the beginning throes of another darkspawn nightmare. Alistair levered himself up on one elbow to watch her in concern, wishing there was some way he could spare her this suffering. He brushed fingertips across her cheek, tracing the curving lines of color tattooed there, up to the tip of one elegantly pointed ear, one of the things that marked her so different from himself and the rest of humanity.

He traced the line of her jaw down to the delicate point of her chin, then tilted her face towards him enough to gently press his lips to hers. Any hope, however, that conceding to her earlier wishes would fix everything vanished when she opened wide, frightened eyes and struggled frantically away for a brief moment before recognition flashed across her face. He watched her expression change from panic to shame, starting the cycle all over again, and knew he had to stop it.

"Sorry," he apologized, accepting the responsibility himself. "I should have known better." He reached out to touch the side of her face again, hoping that she would understand that it wasn't her fault and that he didn't blame her. She took a few breaths to steady herself but didn't flee further. That was a little bit of progress, at least.

She moved into the shelter of his arms of her own volition and he held her close for a moment, reveling in the feel of her against him, until she pulled away, though this time shyly and not in a panic. He tried to hide his smile as she looked about, failing miserably to cover herself up in lieu of her clothing. It seemed rather pointless to hold to modesty after their intimacies with each other, but he understood.

Alistair reached first for her clothing, then stopped as he realized how badly shredded they were from the spiders. Their desperate encounter the previous evening had only further deteriorated their already sorry condition. So he threw her his shirt instead and she gratefully slipped it over her head while he pulled on his own trousers. Missing clothes or not, it wasn't as though the rest of their party wouldn't figure out what had happened between them anyways, given how long they had been back here. Clothing was going to be a problem though, since Kara had lost her pack. They had only brought a minimum with them into the Deep Roads but Orzammar and the rest of their belonging was a long ways back.

He watched her as she moved over to the pool, scrubbing the remnants of tears from her face. He was struck by how young she looked. It was more than just the over-large garment, though that certainly didn't help. Kara had always seemed so confident, so sure, so much older than her years. There had always been an intangible something, a dignity to her carriage, a ferocity of spirit that set her apart from the city-bred elves he had known. His fierce, proud Dalish warrior – not so proud or fierce any more.

There was something different about her now, something timorous and broken in her – in the way she moved and carried herself and a thousand other small ways that he sensed rather than saw and he felt more than a small pang of guilt for the previous night. How much of that had been what Kara had wanted and how much what he had wanted after these long months together and yet not? How much had been her desire and how much what he had only hoped was her? He had never before really considered the years that separated them, few though they might be. Now, he wondered if he had unwittingly taken advantage of her, precisely when she was most vulnerable.

Guilt gnawed at him, but so did the pull of the darkspawn and unless he dealt with them, he would never have the opportunity to sort things out with Kara. He moved over to her side, thankful that she didn't flinch away from him when he drew near. "Kara, will you be alright here?"

He saw panic begin to return to her eyes. "You are leaving?" she asked anxiously. It was all so very unlike the Kara he knew and loved and he wondered, not for the first time, if this could really be happening.

"Not for long," he reassured her. "There are darkspawn…" This time, he had to reach out and pull her back when she tried to scramble away, grey eyes wide and frightened at the mention of the tainted creatures. She was trembling again when he pulled her into his arms.

"What am I going to do, Alistair?" she whispered forlornly against his chest. He hated to hear her sound so hopeless.

"We," he corrected gently, moving back enough to cup her face in his hands again. "We're going to do this, together. We'll find a way." They had to. They were never going to defeat the Blight without her. But how…he could not even begin to guess. But for some unknown reason, she believed him, he could see it in her eyes. She trusted in him in the same way he had always trusted in her. And he knew, beyond a doubt, he couldn't let her down.

"I won't be gone long," he repeated, hoping to set her at ease. When she failed to look the least bit comforted, he looked around for other ideas. His eyes lit on Oghren's skin of foul-smelling drink. It wasn't the ideal solution, but plenty of other people used alcohol to numb raw emotions. It might work here as well.

Alistair reached for the skin and took an experimental swig, doing his best to not make a face when the taste lived up to the smell. "Here," he said, handing it over to her. "Try this. It might help a bit."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste after a tentative sniff but took a sip anyways. And though she grimaced after that first swallow, she surprised him by taking another, and then another. It was a testament to her need to escape the darkness about her that she continued drinking. Somewhere in there, not so far under the surface after all, was the Kara he knew – strong, stubborn, and determined.

Then he had to pull the skin from her hands when she swayed slightly. "I think you've had enough of that," he said with small laugh, the first that felt even remotely genuine since this thing had started. He put aside the skin to pull her back into his arms, where she lay without protest against his chest. Oghren's drink was _definitely_ more than a little potent.

"Everything's going to be alright," he assured her quietly, brushing her disheveled braids away from her face.

She blinked up at him owlishly, her eyes going a bit glazed. "Will it?" she whispered back, voice beginning to slur.

"I promise," he vowed, as much for himself as for her. Even if he didn't quite believe it, she seemed to accept it, nodding before closing her eyes to nestle further into his arms, though that could have just been the alcohol. Alistair waited until she fell asleep, thankful that she hadn't turned out to be a mean drunk like some other Grey Wardens he had known. Or a singing drunk or anything else but a sleepy one, which worked well to their benefit right now.

When she was well and truly out (and snoring gently, much to his amusement) he laid her down gently, wishing he had a blanket to cover her with, though it was hardly cold with all the lava and stone around. It still didn't quite feel right to just leave her asleep there, alone, but the darkspawn wouldn't wait and he would have the others check on her, teasing be damned.

He steeled himself for exactly that as he went back to the main camp, nor was he disappointed. The grins and snickers started the moment he stepped shirtless into the cavern.

"Bahaha, good on you, lad!" Oghren burst out laughing. Alistair couldn't help the blush, but even so, Wynne seemed to know that something was wrong.

"Alistair?" she asked, concern in her voice. "Is everything alright?"

He thought about explaining but decided that was Kara's place, if she decided to. "Darkspawn," he answered shortly instead. "Not a big group, but I'd like to take care of them before they get too close."

Zevran had dropped the smirk, looking thoughtful instead. "Might I accompany you, Alistair?" He nodded back, curious at the change in the former assassin's demeanor.

"Well, if you're going out in the Deep Roads, I'd better go with you," Oghren grumbled, clearly displeased that no one else found the situation as funny as he did. "Somebody's gotta babysit you sodding surfacers or you'll get lost in tunnels a dwarf baby could find his way out of."

Wynne was still watching him in concern. "Perhaps I should come along as well."

Alistair shook his head immediately. "You don't need to do that," he told her. "I'd rather have you look in on Kara, make sure she's okay. I might have gotten her a bit drunk," he admitted a little sheepishly.

Oghren burst out laughing again. "That's my boy!"

"What? No, not for _that_!" Alistair protested, feeling himself blush furiously.

Wynne moved over to rescue him, taking him by the elbow. "Oghren, that's enough," she rebuked the dwarf sharply, leading Alistair away to the back of the cavern where their packs were stacked.

"Alistair, may I have a word?" she asked quietly, when they had put some distance from the rest of the party. When he nodded, she continued. "I may have…said some things to Kara, back at the Dalish camp. About the two of you, about the dangers of two Grey Wardens pursuing a relationship together."

Alistair thought he remembered that. Kara had been upset about something, but had refused to talk about it. He tensed now, wondering what Wynne was going to say now that that union had been consummated, but he was unprepared for what she said next. "I wanted to tell you that I am sorry," she continued. "It was presumptuous of me to judge and I apologize. I see now that you are good for each other, and I am glad that she has you."

"I…um…thanks," he stammered, too surprised to think of something more articulate to say.

Wynne chuckled at his display of eloquence before growing serious again. "The next days will be difficult," she said. "Kara obviously depends on you, and so will all the rest of us." She nodded when his eyes went big. "You are the only functioning Grey Warden we have left. It will be up to you to lead us all." Wynne must not have sensed his panic as she smiled again. "But I have every confidence in you. It's in your blood, after all. In any case, don't worry about things here. I'll look after Kara. You just do what you need to do."

And with that comforting directive, she shooed him off to go face the darkspawn, which was a far more cheerful venture than the idea of leading their band of misfits on his own, without Kara to guide the way.

The journey to find the darkspawn left him plenty of time to mull things over. Enough time to worry about how he was going to make this all work, how he was going to inspire anyone to follow _him_ after months of Kara's capable leadership. No matter what she and Wynne seemed to think of him, he knew the others weren't fooled. Half royal-blood not withstanding, he was an idiot and they knew it. Or maybe he should say _especially_ because of his royal blood. Certainly Cailan had never been known for his mental prowess.

It was enough time to worry about Kara and how things were ever going to go back to normal, if they would ever make it out of the Deep Roads alive, never mind sane. And even if they managed all of that, things might not ever be the same between them again. They had taken a big leap together and now he wasn't sure that it had truly been what she wanted. And if it hadn't, then he wasn't any better than the men who had hurt her as a child. How could he live with himself then? Certainly there had been what she had said she wanted, but she was hardly wholly in her right mind at the moment. Maybe he should have been strong enough to say no, to do what was right for her instead of what he had wanted himself. It was just all the more evidence that he simply wasn't leadership material.

But maybe there was just too much time to be thinking about all the myriad ways they could go when he wasn't even sure where they were yet. There was no way to find out until he finished with the darkspawn and returned, so perhaps it was best just to not think about it at all. That was one thing he might be able to argue he was good at, ignoring a problem he didn't want to deal with in the hopes it would go away. All his previous worries, chief among them how Kara and their companions would feel about King Maric being his father and what would happen now that Maric's only other son was dead seemed to pale in front of the miseries that faced them now.

The darkspawn band proved to be a very welcome distraction, just large enough to require all his attention as he fought alongside Zevran and Oghren in the tight confines of the underground tunnels. The two had proved to be fairly pleasant companions on this little trek thus far – pleasant in the sense that they largely left him alone to his brooding and offered little in the way of the usual crude jokes or banter. He could perhaps grudgingly admit that Kara's instincts had been accurate in regards to the elven assassin as Zevran showed himself to be a surprisingly loyal and perceptive member of the team. As for Oghren….well, at least the dwarf was amusing and a formidable warrior.

Alistair felt the unmistakable tingle of magic and steeled himself. He drew upon his templar training to ward his mind from the effects of the emmisary's spell before launching his own smiting attack against it, felling the Hurlock for an assassin's strike to finish it off. The attack, however, gave him an idea. Was it possible that he fared better than Kara here in the deeps because of his templar training? Was it perhaps helping him shield out some of the effects of their tainted surroundings, or could it at least help protect her oversaturated senses?

True, he had made a promise to the Grand Cleric to not share what the templars had taught him. But if he could help Kara with what he knew, then it was worth it to break that promise. And he wouldn't have to teach her _everything_, just the exercises and techniques they used to build mental fortitude and shield themselves from magical attacks. It just might work. It was the only thing he had thought of that remotely stood a chance of helping.

Even that small glimmer of hope lent renewed strength to his arms as they hacked their way through the rest of the band. Nor did it hurt that with each thrust, he could almost imagine it being one of Kara's long dead assailants, repeating the job that her clan had accomplished long ago. That capacity for vengeance, for violence, would have scared him once, long ago, he mused. Loghain had been the one to change that for him, at the battlefield where the crazed general had taken away the only real place Alistair had ever truly belonged. Since then, vengeance had become a constant companion, sometimes lurking quietly at the edge of his thoughts, other times so present he could think of little else. That had not been so much the case when Kara entered into his heart though, not until recently. And now the two seemed inextricably linked. Kara might have been able to let go of her anger, towards her captors and Loghain both, but Alistair wasn't ready. Not just yet.

In short order, the band had been annihilated. Alistair was about to suggest they clean up and go when Oghren held up a grubby finger, calling for silence. Alistair strained his senses, searching for the feeling of taint or magic or anything else, but came up empty-handed. Then he heard it - a slight skittering noise, the almost imperceptible scrabble of claws on stone. He would have suspected shrieks but for the lack of taint.

"Deepstalkers," Oghren muttered in answer to his quizzical look. "Sodding ugly buggers, but they're not bad eating. Some people even develop a taste for the things. Me, I'll take roast nug any day."

"Are they dangerous?" Alistair asked, concerned. He expected the answer to be yes. So far, just about everything in the Deep Roads had been to one extent or the other.

Oghren shrugged. "Nah, not unless there's a couple dozen of them. 'Course, there usually are." The dwarf inexplicably snickered as he hefted his worn battle axe. "Here they come!"

The creatures that appeared suddenly out of the darkness were horrific indeed, all teeth and claws and wormlike heads. Just when he'd thought he'd seen all the monstrous things the world had to offer, he always managed to find something new. Maybe it was no surprise that both these deepstalkers and the darkspawn came from the depths of the earth - there were no darker places to hide. Unbidden, something Morrigan's mother had said to them long ago in the Korcari Wilds came to mind. _Men's __hearts __hold __shadows __darker __than __any __tainted __creature._ He knew now how true the statement had been, though Maker knew he didn't want anything of Flemeth's or Morrigan's dwelling in his head, true or not.

It was better instead to focus on the job at hand, slaying the monsters of the moment. It was proving to be task enough - as Oghren had said, individually the creatures weren't much of a foe but it was easy to see how they survived as a group amongst the larger, more obvious monstrosities in the Deep Roads. Their default tactic appeared to lie in overwhelming their opponent by sheer numbers, a strategy that might have worked had they not faced three experienced fighters who worked in a concerted team to defend each other as they slew the creatures left and right. Together it was not long before the pack was decimated, deepstalkers either dead or fled away, having decided that this time their target was more than their appetites had warranted.

"That's right, run home to momma you ugly nugsuckers!" Oghren yelled after the fleeing beasts. When the last was out of sight, the dwarf lowered his axe and began poking around the deepstalker corpses around them. "Guess we got dinner for tonight," he said philosophically, or as philosophical as Oghren ever got about anything other than ale anyways.

Revolting as that thought was, the dwarf had a point. They had no idea how long they would be here in the Deep Roads, and there would be few to no other chances to replace their limited supplies. With some reluctance he began sifting through the remains about them, looking for those beasts who hadn't come into too much contact with the darkspawn bodies below to encounter their taint.

Zevran took the opportunity to move closer, speaking softly while the dwarf was occupied in his task. "Alistair, may I have a word?" the elf ventured quietly. Alistair nodded, curious. "I do not know what troubles our normally fearless leader. In my time in Antiva I have seen many women, and yes, men, who have suffered terrible things, but I can imagine that only the worst could so affect a woman as remarkable as she." The elf wore the most serious expression Alistair had ever seen upon his face, not a hint of his usual jocularity present. "I do not know how I may assist you, but you need only say the word and I am your man."

Taken aback by the assassin's offer and the sincerity behind it, Alistair could do little more than nod his gratitude. "Thank you, Zevran."

"I swore an oath to serve her in all things, did I not?" Zevran returned. "I am nothing if not a man of my word." Then he sighed slightly. "It is a shame to have lost such a marvelous woman, but perhaps it is for the best. I believe the better man, in this case, may have won. I am not so suited to the tending of bruised and fragile flowers. However," and now he had a hint of his normal humor present again, "of the two of us, I remain the master of the arts of love. When you are ready, you may come to me and I will attempt to teach you what I know. After all, it could be considered part of my oath to instruct you how in to serve her most properly, yes?"

Alistair couldn't help but start blushing at the last, but still he appreciated the offer and the sentiment behind it. It turned out that under that cold assassin exterior, there was a good heart underneath. Or something resembling a good heart at times, anyways.

Their return to camp was marked by quiet camaraderie and the stench of dead, trussed up deepstalker. Overall, though, Alistair thought they could deem the mission a relative success. It was probably too much to expect that the rest of their time in the Deep Roads under his leadership would follow in a similar vein, but he could hope.

"It had fun on its little outing, I trust?" Shale greeted them dryly from where he stood vigilant guard just inside their cavern entrance. "And it brought back dinner too. How resourceful of it."

"Hey, deepstalker's considered fine dining in some parts of Orzammar," Oghren grumbled.

"Then it is no wonder the dwarves are declining, is it?" Shale answered in that deadpan way the golem had so that Alistair was never quite sure how serious to take him (it?).

Instead, he changed the subject. "Everything's been quiet here, Shale?"

"Extremely," Shale replied in his bored monotone. "But then it brought the drunken dwarf back and ruined the whole thing."

"Sorry about that," Alistair apologized, amused. "Thanks for keeping watch, Shale," he told the golem as they passed into the passage leading to the main portion of the cavern. "The darkspawn shouldn't be a bother for a little while now, at least."

The golem paused before replying, as though he were surprised to be receiving thanks. "It is welcome," he said. "Perhaps I will finally be able to catch up on my beauty sleep now."

They took the time to divest themselves of the worst of their armor before entering the main cavern where they found the rest of their companions gathered together around the mages' staves. Fires were unnecessary here in the depths of the earth, near enough to the Deep Roads to remain heated by the ingenious lava runs the dwarves had built in and even dangerous given the lack of ventilation, but it seemed to be a human need to gather around light of some sort.

He noted with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension that Kara was awake, seated in-between Wynne and Leliana. He had never really worked out what he was going to do if she regretted the night before now that she was thinking more clearly. How could he bear it if he had wrecked everything before they had even really started? All his worries vanished when he saw nothing but relief and even what he might call a hint of joy in her bearing when she saw him.

She started to rise in greeting but sat back down quickly when a decidedly ill expression crossed her face. Alistair remembered somewhat guiltily that he had convinced her to drink a great deal on an empty stomach and she would be paying for that now. He felt bad in part for adding to her misery, but in some ways this would make it easier to convince her to stay here while they sorted things out. Even stubborn as she could be, she was less likely to insist on leaving if she was physically ill. Here at least they were relatively safe, with a plentiful supply of clean water and _privacy_. That last might be most important if he was going to share templar secrets with her.

Zevran's voice came from the side. "Alas, my dear Grey Warden, it is no secret that I have long desired the pleasure of being in your pants, as they say. This, however, is not exactly what I had in mind," he quipped, his broad grin turning the statement into a joke. Kara smiled in return and though she was obviously tired and sick, there was a genuineness to the gesture that had been lacking in the past several days and weeks. That too was a great relief.

He hadn't noticed before, but she was indeed dressed now in some of Zevran's clothing. Though they were still somewhat large, her fellow elf's garments fit her far better than his own clothing ever would or any of the other members of their party, even among the women. That solved one problem he hadn't had time to truly consider yet. The scant protection of leather and cloth was better than none against the darkspawn and human or dwarven armor and clothing simply wasn't tailored to the slender elven build. He would have liked it far better to find her some real armor, something that would actually protect against darkspawn claws and blades.

"I apologize, Zevran," Leliana was saying. "We should have asked first. I hope you don't mind."

"Nonsense," the former assassin replied blithely. "Even if I cannot have the pleasure myself, why should I deny it of my pants? I shall lie instead at night and dream of it, and hope they whisper their secrets to me in the morning." Kara scowled at him which only made Zevran laugh more. The whole scene was almost normal.

Leliana rose and made her way over to take Alistair's share of the slain deepstalkers from him. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, whispering "Please tell me we are not supposed to _eat_ these things..."

He could only shrug in reply. "Oghren says they're safe." The bard still looked dubious but she took the creatures from him anyways to help prepare them.

Alistair was finally free to move to Kara's side at Leliana's vacated seat. She leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around her, resting her head against his chest with an easy intimacy so natural that he couldn't breathe for a moment as his heart tried to race and stop beating at the same time.

There was something that had changed in her, most dramatically from their entrance in the Deep Roads up to now, but even from the time he had left to fight the darkspawn. She was still fragile, still broken, nowhere near the fearless, invincible warrior she had always before seemed to be. And yet she was not the same despairing creature he had left behind in the cavern either.

The difference, Alistair realized, was that she was no longer trying to hide behind a brittle facade that threatened to shatter at any moment. She had faced her weakness and accepted it, had acknowledged it and not found herself rejected for it. And he had been the one to give her the courage for that. He had been the one.

That realization filled him with a quiet sense of pride, a growing sense that maybe, just maybe, he could pull this off. Kara could rely on him for strength and he might not let her down. The others could look to him for leadership and maybe actually find it, buried somewhere in Maric's bastard offspring.

They had all realized they could trust each other, he decided. They were in this fight together, whether they liked each other individually or not.

So it was only mildly surprising to him when Morrigan approached as he was about to follow Kara back to the little cavern with the pool after dinner to see if he could teach her some of the templars' mental tricks.

"Here," she said brusquely, placing a small vial in his hand. "'Tis for your fellow Grey Warden. It may serve to ease the darkspawn dreams somewhat."

"Why Morrigan, I knew there was a heart somewhere deep in there," Alistair teased, grinning broadly at the witch's discomfiture.

"Do not mistake this for some altruistic gesture, fool," the witch snapped. "I am merely tired of losing sleep myself. Do not read more into it than that."

"The thought never crossed my mind. Not once," Alistair agreed amiably, not bothering to hide the grin in his voice or on his face. The witch huffed and stormed off as much as one could in a small cavern that everyone shared.

No, he wasn't fooled one bit. The smile he wore was genuine - far more genuine than he could have imagined when he had left the cavern earlier that day. The coming days and weeks would be challenging, but not impossible. Together, as a team, they could do this. He set off to follow Kara, his steps just a little lighter.


End file.
